


Conditional Probability

by claro



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 3am writing, Abortion, Angst, Break Up, Discussion of Abortion, Established Relationship, Implied Mpreg, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mpreg, NOT OMEGAVERSE, mystrade, oh lord the angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-05-17 16:20:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 27,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5877466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claro/pseuds/claro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade has always known that Mycroft has secrets and conditions and agendas. And usually he can cope with not knowing what they are, believing that he would rather live in blissful ignorance.</p><p>Mycroft keeps secrets. Some of them are to protect Lestrade. Some of them are to protect the country. But some of them are to protect himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

CONDITIONAL PROBABILITY

  
_noun_

Statistics

noun: **conditional probability** ; plural noun: **conditional probabilities**  

the probability of an event ( _A_ ), given that another ( _B_ ) has already occurred.

 

 

 

 

'He doesn't want it.'

John bit his lip and glanced up at Greg before dropping his gaze back down to his cup with a shrug. Greg felt suddenly deflated, and he leaned back in his chair, hissing out a breath.

'Are you sure?'

John nodded.

'He said that? Clearly?' Greg pushed, 'You know what he's like when-'

'He couldn't have been any clearer.'

'What _exactly_ did he say?'

John sighed, 'He said, 'I don't want it, John.''

Greg had to admit that Sherlock had been clear. For once.

'He might change his mind,' he said, but they both knew that was a lost cause.

For a long moment neither of them spoke, each thinking over what that meant for the future. For John and Sherlock.

'So what will you do?' Greg asked.

John shrugged again.

'Can't exactly force him into parenthood, can I?'

'But it's you that's-'

'Yeah, I know.' John cut him off sharply.

'Sorry. I just meant, well, it's your body, right. So...' Greg trailed off, 'Look, I don't really know what to say. I would have thought he'd have been excited.'

'So did I.' John said, a bitter cut to his voice, 'I was standing in the middle of the kitchen, grinning like an idiot when I told him and he just looked at me and went 'No

' and then went back to his bloody microscope like I'd just offered him tea instead of-.'

John looked on the verge of tears, and for a second Greg thought about trying to change the subject, but there was nothing he could say that was going to drag John's mind away from his current problems.

'What if you have it?'

'Well, that's just it, isn't it. _I_ would have it. Me. On my own.'

'He wouldn't leave you.'

'Oh, he would. He was pretty clear about that too.'

'Jesus,' Greg breathed.

'Or, to be more accurate, he would expect me to leave,' John picked up his cup, but set it down again without taking a drink, 'I can't support a baby on my own. Where would I live, for a start? And then there's Sherlock...' John straightened up, trying to gather his resolve, 'I don't really think I've got much option.'

'Of course you do,' Greg's voice was louder than he intended, but John just shook his head.

They fell into silence again for a long moment, and eventually Greg spoke.

'If you don't have it,' he began carefully, aware of the sudden intensity of John's gaze, 'Then it doesn't mean the end of the world.'

John just stared at him, and Greg licked his lips before continuing.

'I mean, you didn't plan it, you're only a couple of weeks along and you and Sherlock could be fine again.'

'Do you really think anything is going to be fine ever again, Greg?' John sneered, 'Either I have it and end up on my own, a broke, single parent. Or I don't have it and spend the rest of my life resenting Sherlock. Either way, everything is ruined.' 

'It's not.'

'Of course it is!'

'Not necessarily.'

'Oh really? And what would you know about it?'

Greg took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

'Mycroft had one,' he said quietly, careful to keep his voice neutral.

John blinked at him in surprise.

'Mycroft? Really?'

Greg nodded, 'It was long before me. And he's never just come out with it but...well, over the years he's said a few things and...well, it wasn't hard to piece together.'

He avoided looking directly at John, not wanting to give too much of his own thoughts away, and very aware that Mycroft wouldn't appreciate him telling this to John. But Greg knew that John would keep it to himself.

'You're sure?'

Greg nodded. He was completely sure.

'Why haven't you talked about it?'

'You know what Mycroft's like.'

John nodded. He did know all too well.

' I bet he didn't get worked up about it though.' John ventured.

'I think he probably worried more than he let on.' was all Greg said.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft's side of things.  
> Part 1

THEN....

ONE

 

It was settled with the minimum of fuss. Within an hour of the test result Mycroft had booked an appointment at the clinic. Within four hours he had called an end to his relationship, which had been ill advised to begin with, and certainly not something, or someone, he wished to be tied to. Within twenty four hours he had the consultation and the procedure. In thirty eight hours he sat his politics final. Within forty eight hours he was back in his own, neat room, bag packed for the upcoming weekend at his parents, Sherlock's birthday present wrapped in elegant paper beside it.

He checked his appearance one last time before he left, watching as the haunted look slipped away from his face and was once again replaced by his carefully constructed façade of coldness and impartiality, his own pain and grief pushed to the side and hidden from view. No one would ever know what he had done or how he felt about it. There were other matters that needed dealt with. He was almost finished with his degree. In a few weeks he would join the Foreign Office in a position he had been headhunted for the year before. Already he was prepared for a difficult future where he would be responsible for the safety and wellbeing of many people, whether they were aware of it or not. This was not the time to let his personal life hold him back or interfere with that.

Personal, after all, wasn't the same as important.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last line shamelessly paraphrased from Terry Pratchett's 'Men at Arms.'


	3. Chapter 3

John climbed the stairs to 221B slowly, listening carefully for any sounds to indicate that Sherlock was in the flat. John tried to tell himself that he wasn't avoiding the detective, but he just couldn't stand to be in the same room as him right now. It wasn't that Sherlock was _doing_ anything to make John uncomfortable exactly. But maybe that was the problem. Since John had shared his news Sherlock had completely ignored it, continuing on as if nothing had happened. He hadn't asked about it, had barely spoken to John at all. But again, that was nothing new either.

Maybe it was just Sherlock's way of dealing with it. Ignoring the problem until it went away.

Problem. John frowned, hand tightening on the bannister. Was that was this was? A _problem._

John sank down on the stairs, one hand still holding onto the rail. Was it a problem? That word was just so...right now it wasn't anything, really. It certainly didn't even seem real. Aside from two little lines his life hadn't changed at all. So far. John wasn't naïve enough to think that everything would stay the same. He'd told Greg as much. Everything was going to be different from now on, no matter what he did. But was that a _problem?_

Sherlock certainly wasn't acting like it was a problem. Since his initial refusal he had simply not acknowledged the situation at all. Clearly he just assumed that John would do what he always did and sort things out without Sherlock having to do anything. And that was fine when it came to ordering a new microwave, or calling the fire brigade, but it was something else entirely when it came to a baby. 

Greg had looked genuinely pleased for him, a broad smile on his face until the moment John mentioned Sherlock's response. He wondered briefly what it would feel like to be greeted with that reaction. That, no matter how surprised or unplanned, that your partner would be happy about it. He never thought he'd be jealous of Mycroft Holmes, but right at that moment he was, and he hoped the politician had some idea of how lucky he was. If Mycroft ever told Greg he was pregnant it would be all he could do to stop Greg throwing a party. And for reasons he couldn't, or wouldn't identify, that hurt. It hurt that Sherlock wasn't happy. It hurt that Sherlock was so unyielding in his day to day life. It hurt that Sherlock wasn't envisaging the same future that John was.

And that was what it all came down to really, wasn't it. For the last six years they had danced around each other, lived their lives in the moment with no hard or fast plan. John had tried to be the sensible one. He made sure there was food and savings and he kept a steady job, budgeted while Sherlock lived for the moment. Neither of them had really spoken about a long term plan. Did Sherlock even see them together in a few months, let alone building a whole future together. Or was this as much as Sherlock had planned. John and Baker Street and The Work only until it all started to get _boring._

John had never, in all the time he had known Sherlock, stopped to think about that. Oh, of course he'd _tried_ to have a sensible grown up life with Mary. But that hadn't exactly worked out according to plan, and as soon as Sherlock came back John was off and running again.

But this changed things. John knew that he would never look at Sherlock the same way again. He would always look at him wondering if today was going to be the day that something more interesting came along. If today was going to be the day that John got left behind.

Was he willing to give up the baby for a man who could decide tomorrow to leave? Or could he give up Sherlock for the baby?

John closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall, wishing for an answer, and thinking to himself again how luck Mycroft was to never face that problem.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Mycroft. Sorry about Greg in this chapter. but I tried to think about what Greg would do, and how he acted in canon and this was really all I could see him doing.
> 
> ***eep - edited because I forgot that this was flashback and it totally changed the whole context when I left out those two little words at the start. My bad****

THEN.....

 

TWO

 

 

Greg was going back to his wife.

Mycroft knew that long before Greg told him. If truth be told he knew long before Greg knew. It was the right thing to do. Wasn't it? She was his wife. He'd made vows. It didn't matter that she'd broken them first. He had meant the words he'd said. He needed to try and mend his marriage. Mycroft understood all of those things. Which is why it came as no surprise when he arrived home to find Greg sitting on the sofa, glass in one hand, looking completely wretched.

Neither of them spoke for a long time. Mycroft didn't even sit down, he just stood by the door and waited for Greg to say something. When it was clear that the other man was struggling to find the words, Mycroft found them for him.

'Do you need help to move your things?'

Greg jerked back, spilling some of his drink. He looked up at Mycroft, slightly startled, then he blinked, the surprise slowly giving way to sadness.

'No. I don't have much.'

Mycroft nodded, and finally stepped away from the doorway, peeling off his coat and moving to hang it up. He could feel Greg's eyes on him as he moved, but he refused to turn around until he was finished storing his umbrella too. Then, taking a deep breath, he slowly turned around, his face a mask of calm. Gregory wasn't fooled. Mycroft hadn't expected him to be. But he was not going to go down the route of crying and begging. He was not going to make Greg stay.

And that was it really, wasn't it. He knew that he could make him stay. Just a few words and Greg would stay. But it would be for the wrong reason. Just as much as the reasons he was leaving. Mycroft was not going to have someone else's happiness or misery down to him. So he said nothing. Instead he listened impassively as Greg spoke, tried not to wince as Greg tried to talk himself round that he was doing the right things, as he looked to Mycroft for guidance that they both knew wouldn't come.

'She really wants to fix things, Mycroft,' Greg's eyes were almost pleading, but with what, Mycroft wasn't sure, 'She's talking about a new house, having kids...'

Mycroft inclined his head slightly to show that he understood, then he straightened his shoulders again.

'I wish you all the best. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do.'

'Mycroft-'

'Good night, Detective Inspector.'

Greg set his glass down and stood slowly, his dark eyes creased with hurt, he looked at Mycroft as if he wanted to say something. But then he just blinked, and nodded, stepping past Mycroft for the door, stopping only to lift his bag.

Mycroft didn't linger in the sitting room. He straightened the cushions on the sofa and carried Greg's glass through to the dishwasher. Then he walked through to his office and retreated behind the safety of his desk to gather his thoughts.

If he told Greg, Greg would stay. But Greg would only be staying because of what Mycroft had told him. And as much as Mycroft wanted the other man in his life, he wanted it to be for the right reasons.

After an hour he lifted the phone and made an appointment with his doctor, then he messaged Anthea to clear his schedule for the next few days.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And back to the present - thanks for the comments and kudos guys. I wasn't sure about this story, but you've kept me going.

Like any couple, Mycroft and Greg had their problems. They'd had fights and said things they hadn't meant. Said things they had. They'd broken up more than once. The reasons varied, but somehow they always managed to work things out.

Greg was thinking about this as he climbed into bed that evening. Mycroft was already there, propped up among the pillows, book in hand. He glanced over at his partner for a moment.

'Is everything okay?'

'I was just thinking about John and Sherlock,' Greg said as he lay back. He didn't tell Mycroft what he was thinking, he was sure Mycroft was already aware of the situation.

'Ah,' was Mycroft's only response.

'It just made me realise how lucky we are.'

'Oh?'

'Yeah,' Greg shuffled slightly to get comfortable, 'I mean, we've had out bad moments, but when it comes down to it we're on the same page, right? I mean, I'd never expect you to give up something like that. I wouldn't want you to.' There was a pause and then Greg spoke again, his voice careful, 'Maybe when all this settled down a bit that's something we could talk about.'

'Something?' Mycroft frowned.

'Yeah, kids. You know?'

Mycroft didn't say anything, not that Greg expected him to. Mycroft hated having conversations spring on him. So Greg didn't press the issue, instead leaving the seeds of the conversation there for Mycroft to mull over while Greg drifted off to sleep, already imagining what their kids might look like.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate this is getting a bit heavy going - PLEASE heed the tags. Trigger warnings for pregnancy complications and abortion.

THEN....

THREE

 

'Are you sure about this, Mr Holmes?' the consultant asked, concern radiating off him in waves.

'Quite.'

'It won't be easy. Your body will go through the labour process.'

'I am aware.'

In the silence that followed Mycroft could hear the clock on the wall, the sounds of traffic in the street and voices shouting somewhere else in the building.

'I could lose my job if I get caught.'

Mycroft looked down at the papers littering the man's desk. Test results and scan pictures. He straightened up.

'So don't get caught.'

'Mr Holme, Mycroft-'

'Olvar, we have known each other for a long time. I wouldn't have come to you if I had another option.'

'Perhaps if you waited until you were back in England...?'

'It would be too late.' Mycroft's tone was sharper than he'd intended. He was halfway through a diplomatic tour. It would be another seven weeks before he was back home. He'd kept his news to himself before he left, not wanting Greg to worry about him during his trip, and then there was the anticipation and excitement of arriving back home and surprising his partner with a small baby bump. The thought of the look on Greg's face had kept him going during difficult meetings over the last few weeks.

It had been a routine appointment. Standard tests. Abnormal results. Repeats. Scans. More blood tests. Second opinions. And then he was sitting in Olvar's office talking through the options. As if there really were any options. Olvar had been reluctantly clear about things. The baby was not developing properly and likely not go full term. If, by some miracle it did, then it would not survive birth. He had refused to meet Mycroft's eye as he delivered the news.

'If you can arrange this, Olvar, then I would consider us to be even.'

 _That_ got the doctor's attention. He swallowed hard as he thought it through.

'Come back this afternoon,' he said quietly.

Four hours later Mycroft was once again leaving Olvar's office, this time with two innocuous looking pills and a prescription for painkillers. He took the pills in the car on the way back to the hotel.

The cramps started after dinner.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omg. The response to this has been amazing. You guys are all wonderful and I love each and everyone of you. I'm trying to post a little bit of this every day - although our power was out last night, so I was writing fic by candlelight - I felt very creative. Still, here goes...

It was an arm around his waist that caused John to jerk awake in panic, something he hadn't done in years, used now to sharing a bed with Sherlock, where there was no such thing as a quiet nights sleep. But of course, all that had been before. Right at that moment the last thing he was expecting, or wanting, was the hand that moved down to stroke his cock.

'What are you doing?' John was on his feet and staring down at Sherlock in the space of a breath.

'I...just thought...' Sherlock flashed him a flirtatious smile that caused John's jaw to drop.

'Are you fucking serious?'

Sherlock blinked, clearly taken aback by John's reaction.

'John?'

'Not a chance, Sherlock! Jesus!' he ran a hand through his sandy hair, 'You are unbelievable!'

'John?' Sherlock tried to untangle himself from the sheets to follow John, who had left the bedroom, his jeans in his hands. By the time Sherlock caught up with John he was fastening the button on his bottoms and toeing on his shoes at the same time.

'Where are you going?' he asked.

'I don't know,' John growled, 'Out.'

'I'll come with you.'

'No!' John held up his hand, 'Just...stay here.'

'But John-'

'I need some air.'

John didn't wait for Sherlock to voice another objection. He was down the stairs and out onto the street in seconds, careful not to slam the door in case Mrs Hudson was sleeping. He deliberately didn't look up at the flat as he walked, but he knew Sherlock was watching him, confusion on his face.

 

#

 

'No John?' Lestrade straightened up as Sherlock approached.

'No.'

'Is he working?'

'No.'

'Is there-'

'Lestrade, there are more pressing matters right now than Dr Watson's current location.'

'Alright, alright,' Lestrade sighed, 'I just thought that in his condition-'

'And what would you know about his _condition?'_ Sherlock almost spat the last word as he rounded on Lestrade.

Lestrade, for his part, hadn't survived so many years with the Holmes brothers without learning when it was time to back off. He just shrugged and took a step away from Sherlock.

'Nothing.'

Sherlock gave the slightest of nods, and then returned his attention to the crime scene.

'So, stabbing gone wrong...'

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Conditional probability

 

John was exhausted. He'd expected to be tired, but combined with the extra hours he was putting in at the surgery, it was all getting to be too much for him. He would arrive home each evening and be fast asleep within the hour. He didn't see Sherlock for over a week. When they finally did end up in the same room together, Sherlock paused in the doorway, face still flushed from the wind. He took one look at John and his face fell.

'You're still...'

'Pregnant?' John raised an eyebrow and watched how Sherlock flinched, 'Yeah.'

Sherlock didn't respond, instead he went through to his own room and slammed the door, not emerging for the rest of the night.

The following day John came home to find Sherlock looking through a stack of leaflets from estate agents, causing him to frown. They had been locked in his bedside drawer. Sherlock didn't look at John, instead focusing on the pages in front of him.

'You're keeping it?'

And that really was the question, wasn't it?

'I don't know,' he admitted.

'You can't afford London on your own.'

'That's why I'm not looking at London, 'I think I'm going back to Scotland.'

'But how will you be of any use to me if you are hundreds of miles away.'

'I won't be,' John moved slowly though to the kitched and filled the kettle. A few seconds later he heard Sherlock come in behind him.

'You don't have to leave. You can sort it out and then stay here and we'll be just like we were before.'

The silence that followed Sherlock's plead was heartbreaking, and John couldn't turn around to face him. Not yet. 

'No, Sherlock, it won't be. It'll never be the same again.'

'But if you're not going to have it-'

'I don't know!' John roared, then he sighed and ran his hand through his hair, 'I need a drink.'

His hand was halfway to the cupboard before Sherlock spoke.

'You shouldn't drink,' he said slowly, 'It could hurt the-'

'You bloody hypocrite!' John turned on him, 'Two minutes ago you were asking me to get rid of it!'

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but John was already pushing past him, climbing the stairs to his old room. They didn't again for another two weeks.

 

*

 

They didn't talk about the baby. But every so often John caught Sherlock watching him as if assessing him. They slept in their own rooms and John had been quietly packing up his megre posessions. Their relationship was over.

Neither of them said it. But they both knew. They barely spoke to each other, and even then they both made an effort to keep the conversation on neutral territory. The only person who ever asked John about his pregnancy was Greg, who was genuinely pleased each time he realised John was still pregnant.

'You're really invested in this baby,' John laughed over lunch one afternoon.

Greg shrugged, 'Purely selfish reasons, I assure you.'

'That sounds really dodgy.'

'Nah, it's just I get to train this one up from the start, so hopefully there won't be any of that weird Holmes personality to deal with. You know what sort of influence those two will be. It'll be all this cryptic shit about sentiment and obligation. What? Why are you looking at me like that?'

'There won't be any Holmes influence,' John set down his sandwich, suddenly no longer hungry.

'You're not going to stop Sherlock seeing it?'

'I won't be here. Can't afford London on my own, and no, before you say anything I'm not going to Mycroft, so you can forget that.'

'He'd help.'

'Yeah, and this kid would be enrolled in some fancy boarding school before it can even walk.'

There was a long pause, broken only by Greg's shy smile.

'What?' John demanded.

'You keep talking like that.'

'Like what?'

'Like you're keeping it.'

John blinked at Greg's words, and he struggled to speak for a moment.

'I don't know.'

'Have you had a scan yet?'

'It's booked for next week.'

'You want someone to go with you?'

John was touched by Greg's offer, they both knew Sherlock wouldn't go. But he shook his head.

'Have to get used to doing things on my own.'

 

*

 

John knew as soon as he left the clinic what he was going to do, and suddenly finding somewhere else to live was top of his list of priorities.

Mike had offered him a spare room, but the thought of moving twice while pregnant was too much. Instead he packed everything he wouldn't need immediately and started applying for jobs in Scotland. Sherlock didn't ask about the scan, although the appointment card had been propped on the mantlepiece for several days. Instead Sherlock continued to live his noctural existance, slipping in out of the flat when John was sleeping or working. On the rare occassions when they saw each other the atmosphere was cordial and tense.

John was four months gone when he climbed the stairs, trouser knee ripped and palms bloody. Sherlock glanced up at him in alarm.

'What happened?'

'Cyclist ran the red light.'

'Are you okay?'

'I'm fine,' John snapped, already stripping off his coat on the way to the bathroom, 'I just need a shower and some tea.'

Sherlock didn't say anything else. Instead he returned to his microscope and only looked up again fifteen minutes later when John started screaming his name.

 

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER

 

Sherlock didn't know the answer to any of the questions he was asked about John, causing the doctor to tut at him even as she explained what was happening.

'His cervix is closed and the pains seem to be easing off. We've given him some painkillers but we want to keep him in to keep a check on the bleeding.'

Sherlock just nodded.

'And the...' he still couldn't bring himself to say the word 'baby.'

The doctor smiled at him in what she probably thought was a reassuring manner, 'The scan was fine. We'll keep him hooked up to a monitor to check the heartbeat, and if all goes well he can have another scan in the morning.'

'What do you mean 'if all goes well?'' Sherlock demanded, but was silenced by a hand closing tightly around his arm.

Mycroft was standing beside him, looking pale and intimidating. Further down the corridor Anthea was looking bored, her blackberry for once not in sight.

The expression on Mycroft's face was clear. Sherlock shrugged him off and headed for John's room, not entirely sure what he would see when he got there.

John was asleep on his side, curled around the small, but prominent bump that Sherlock had refused to acknowledge. It was bigger than he expected, and John's arms were wrapped around it as if trying to sheild it.

And that's when he realised how much it meant to John. John who was only good at expressing his emotions if he could shout them from the other side of the room. John who was quietly and without a fuss making arrangements for a new life for himself, who accepted that this was how things were going to be now. It wasn't that John hadn't picked him, it was that John had let him go with no obligations, no responsibility. John had accepted things and was trying to make the best of it.

And one impatient idiot on a bike had almost ruined that for him.

Sherlock sat on the chair beside the bed, wanting to climb in beside John and wrap himself around him like he used to do. But instead, not wanting to disturb John, he reached out and closed his hand around John's ankle, letting it rest there for the remainder of the night.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

 

CHAPTER

 

THEN...

 

FOUR

 

It was a cruel joke. Revenge for his past actions. Penance. Yes. Mycroft held onto those thoughts, needing the explanation. Needing to understand it as more than 'just one of those things.'

'We're very sorry, Mr Holmes...'

Surely some of the worst words ever uttered. Especially when done so in that sympathetic tone of voice used to try and comfort strangers.

Mycroft had straightened his clothes, neatly tucking his shirt back in, refusing to look at the ultrasound machine behind him which was still showing an image. He made a mental note to get a copy of it, telling himself that it wasn't sentiment. It was a reminder.

There was a brief conversation about what happened next, which Mycroft waved off.

'I'm familiar with the process,' he said calmly.

The doctor looked down at his notes, 'I understand this is not the first complicated pregnancy...'

'No, but it will be the last.'

That was the one thing Mycroft was completely sure about.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mycroft and Greg have a very difficult conversation. Sorry.

The conversation had been coming for months. Years perhaps. But that didn't mean Mycroft was in any way prepared for Greg springing it on him as they cooked dinner.

'We're not getting younger. And I was reading that being older can mean more complications-'

'Where were you reading this?'

'Some website,' Greg waved the spoon dismissively, 'The point is that we probably shouldn't wait any longer if we want to do this.'

'Do what, exactly?' Mycroft was stalling for time and he knew it.

'Have kids!' Greg beamed at him.

'Gregory,' Mycroft sighed and tried to find the words, but when he looked at Greg's smiling face he wasn't sure he could do it, and seriously wondered if he could simply avoid the topic until they both retired.

'Come on, it's not like we have to have a dozen of them, but I do want kids, Mycroft.'

'Yes,' Mycroft couldn't keep the bitter tone out of his voice, 'That was part of the reason you went back to your wife.'

The smile vanished from Greg's face, replaced instead by hurt, 'That's not fair.'

'No,' Mycroft agreed, 'It wasn't.'

Greg ignored the pan behind him that was starting to boil and instead focused on Mycroft.

'It's not like we've never talked about it. I thought you wanted to have them?'

'When I was twenty years younger.'

'It's not too late.'

'I think it is.'

'So you're just dismissing it out of hand? Aren't we even going to talk about it?'

'It wouldn't help.'

Greg leaned back against the counter, hands gripping the edge for support. He was trying to look calm, but Mycroft knew him well enough to see that he was annoyed with the way the conversation was going. Mycroft made a last ditch attempt to diffuse the tension.

'Isn't this enough? This life that we have?'

The hurt was back in Greg's expression as if Mycroft was doubting him.

'Mycroft, I love our live. We're in a great place now and I think we should at least talk about it,' his eyes softened slightly, 'I really want children.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Mycroft-'

'I can't have them, Gregory!'

 

*

 

The silence stretched for a long time. At first Greg looked confused, and upset, and finally angry.

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'It means that I can't have children.'

'You're not that old yet!'

'No, but I was sterilised.'

And that frown was back as Greg tried to make sense of things in his own mind.

'When?' he said eventually.

Mycroft lifted his gaze from his hands and looked up at his partner.

'Three years ago.'

He could see Greg thinking back over the last couple of years, of the times that Mycroft had practically made himself ill with his workload. Unfortunately Greg came to the wrong conclusion.

'Were you sick? Was that why you didn't tell me? Mycroft? What was it?'

'I...I lost a baby and I couldn't face losing another one.'

The colour drained from Greg's face, turning him a sickly grey. Mycroft tensed slightly, prepared to flee, too used to physical altercations with Sherlock to be completely comfortable with an angry man in the same room. Greg, however, was struggling for words, his breathing ragged in the silence.

Mycroft indicated the seat opposite him. It was time.

'Sit down, Gregory. There's somethings I need to tell you.'

 

*

 

He'd tried over the years to tell Greg things, but the words wouldn't come. It wasn't any easier when he was sitting two feet away and pale as death. Mycroft decided that honesty was the best approach.

'I was twenty and about to graduate. The timing. The person. The whole situation. So I didn't keep it.'

Greg nodded. That much he'd pieced together from what Mycroft had told him over the years.

'Then I met you.'

Greg closed his eyes, 'Please don't say it, Mycroft.'

'I had just found out when you ended our relationship. It seemed like the kindest thing to do at the time.'

'Kind? Do you hear yourself?' Greg's voice was laced with anger, 'And so what, you were never going to tell me? You let me leave here and you never said shit!'

'You were adamant about making your marriage work.'

'Which I would have realised faster was a massive mistake and never gone back to-'

'It's conditional probability.'

'What?'

'If I'd told you then you would have stayed. But that would have been the only reason you stayed. You wouldn't have stayed because of me.'

'I'm here now,' Greg shouted, 'What's that telling you?'

'It's telling me that you spent two years trying to fix your marriage before you came back.'

'The point is that I did come back,' Greg looked anguished and Mycroft wanted to reach out and hold him, but didn't dare, 'I thought we were past that, Myc, I thought things were okay now.'

'They were. Which is why I was happy when I found out I was...was...' Mycroft faltered, still unable to say the words, 'But that wasn't to be. I was on tour at the time and it wasn't a conversation to have over the phone.'

'Is that when you decided to get sterilised?'

Mycroft shook his head. The following year I was in Geneva. It was a routine appointment and I was going to tell you when I got back...but...' Mycroft swallowed, and for the first time Greg seemed to understand what Mycroft was telling him.

'You thought it was your fault,' he said slowly.

'I was working a lot.'

'It wasn't your fault.'

'I couldn't face it happening again. So I made sure it wouldn't.'

'So when you came back from that trip with a knife wound you said you got at work, you weren't being completely honest?'

Mycroft couldn't speak properly. How could he explain the way he had abused Greg's implicit trust and his understanding of the need for discretion when it came to work.

The sound of Greg's chair scraping on the tiles was loud, and Mycroft jerked back slightly, unable to hide the fear in his eyes. Greg just looked down at him and then walked out of the room, leaving Mycroft sitting alone in the kitchen. A moment later there was the sound of the front door closing, and only then did Mycroft allow his head to drop down into his hands, unsure if the relief at finally being honest was worth the pain it had caused them both.


	12. Chapter 12

Mycroft didn't eat that night, nor did he sleep. He was wide awake when he heard Greg come home, and for a brief moment he felt a surge of relief, having not wanted to consider the possibility that the other man may never return. That relief was short lived when he heard the door to the spare room close, although he doubted Greg slep much that night either.

The following morning Mycroft emerged from the bathroom to find Greg rumagin g in the bedside cabinet.

'What are you looking for?' Mycroft ventured, his voice soft.

'Asprin,' Greg's voice was rough as he continued to pull things out of the drawer, tossing them casually on the bed as he contined his search, 'There's everything else in here,' he snarled, snatching another box, 'For some reason there's plenty of condoms.'

He turned finally to look at Mycroft, holding the blue box in his hand, his face twisted into a pained sneer.

'Not that we fucking need them!' he shouted, and before Mycroft could react the box hit the wall beside his head.

Mycroft flinched, and closed his eyes to recompose himself, half expecting a further onslaught. But when he opened them again Greg was gone.

Mycroft found him a few moments later in the kitchen, he was filling a mug with water and the tension in his shoulders was obvious.

'Gregory-' Mycroft's voice was barely a whisper, but Greg didn't even turn around at the sound.

'Don't. Just don't. Don't say anything. I have a fucking awful hangover and I'm still just...I can't deal with you right now.'

'Gregory...'

'For fuck sake! What did I just say?' he slammed the mug down on the counter so hard it broke into several pieces that they both just stared at.

This time when Greg left the room Mycroft didn't follow him, instead he quietly collected the broken pieces and cleaned the spilled water with a cloth, then he collected his briefcase and left for the day without another word or look in Greg's direction.

 

*

 

Greg waited until Mycroft left for the office before he called in sick to work. Aside from his mind being all over the place, he was smart enough to know that he was in no physical state to go, and showing up to work still a little bit drunk was the last thing he needed right now.

Instead he took a long shower and then methodically dressed himself before going back to the spare room and sitting on the side of the bed. He should probably move some clothes in there, he thought, enough to last a couple of days while he worked out what to do. Where to go.

Was he going?

He rubbed a rough hand over his unshaven face. He just didn't know what he was going to do. Everything had changed so suddenly and he just hadn't seen it coming.

Had he?

That was a thought that had plagued him all night as he sat on his own in the pub, dowing whisky. He thought through the time frames that Mycroft had mentioned. Tried to remember how things were then. How Mycroft was. If there were signs that he should have noticed.

And the longer he thought about it, the more he saw.

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and now we see the past from Greg's POV. And the past is a sad, sad place.

THEN

 

GREG

 

He couldn't deny that, for the most part, it had been a good six months. He hadn't anticipated that this thing with Mycroft would happen, but it had, and it had proven a good distraction from the breakup of his marriage.

But things had been strained for several weeks.

Mycroft had been quiet and withdrawn, and initially Greg put it down to stress or overwork. But when Mycroft asked after his wife, Greg began to suspect something different was the problem.

He'd been honest with Mycroft about the state of his marriage, about the uncertainty surrounding it and it's future. He'd been careful to make sure that Mycroft knew that whatever was going on between them was casual. It had to be. 

Mycroft hadn't spoken his thoughts on it either way, and for months they just enjoyed each others company, and not once until that point had Mycroft asked about his ex and how Greg's frequent meetings and daily chats with her went. It was so out of the blue that Greg hadn't known how to answer.

'Fine,' he'd managed eventually. But the question stayed with him over the next few weeks.

Mycroft saw everything, he knew everything. So what was he seeing that Greg wasn't. Whatever it was it was making him pull back.

Greg mentioned it to his ex, who'd suggested that Mycroft knew Greg still had feelings for her. At the time it had seemed a logical explanation, and the more he thought about it the more he convinced himself.

Convinced himself that his ex was right.

Convinced himself that Mycroft was pulling away from him because of it.

Convinced himself that he wanted all the things she was suddenly offering.

As soon as that became clear to him, everything seemed to make sense. It wasn't fair to any of them to let things drag on the way they way. So he made his choice. He made the logical choice. He still loved his wife. Mycroft was preparing himself for their breakup. It was inevitable.

So he sat on the sofa, drink in hand and waited for Mycroft to come home. He was late, and when he walked in he was paler than usual, dark shadows under his eyes and exhaustion clear in every movement of his body. He'd stilled in the doorway and took in Greg's seat and posture and then simply asked him if he needed help to move his things.

Greg told himself for months, years afterwards that Mycroft had known what was going to happen and was prepared for it.

Perhaps that was true, Greg reflected years later as he sat alone trying to work out his feelings, but now he realised that Mycroft had also known something else.

And the knowledge of that was a knife in his chest.


	14. Chapter 14

John was released from hospital and allowed home with instructions to take care of himself and to immediately go back if there were any problems or he had any concerns. John had just nodded, anxious to get out of the sterile room, but not too keen on returning to the oppressive atmosphere of 221B. He took a cab home by himself, hands fisted on his knees as he stared out the window at the grey city. 

Climbing the stairs he held onto the bannister, something he hadn't done in years, not since he stopped using his cane. With a sense of sadness he realised that was the fist day. Everything had changed since he met Sherlock. Sherlock had made him...better? John took another step with more care than usual, the stairs seeming suddenly insurmountable. Perhaps he should have taken the advice of the doctors and waited for someone to go home with him. But Greg would be at work, and while no doubt Mycroft could have sent someone if he couldn't come himself, John was loathe to be beholden to the elder Holmes for even the smallest of things. Sherlock was out of the question.

John had just opened the door to the flat when he heard the downstairs door slam and feet taking the stairs two at a time. He barely had time to move out of the way before Sherlock burst through the door, almost knocking him off his feet. As John steadied himself with a hand against the wall, Sherlock leaped back, looking stricken. His eyes flickering back to the open door and then to John again.

'I should probably stop doing that,' he said.

'Probably a good idea,' John's voice was flat, and he turned away before he could say anything else. Tea. If he had tea then things would be a little easier to deal with. His feet carried him towards the kitchen and he heard Sherlock's voice again.

'I didn't think they'd let you out yet,' he said, darting forward from the door and scooping up an armful of journals scattered on the sofa, 'I was going to move your things before you got back.'

 _That_ stopped John in his tracks and he turned to face his flatmate and former partner.

'W-what?'

Sherlock looked annoyed for a second, he hated repeating himself. Instead he spoke very slowly so John would be able to keep up.

'I started to move your things for you since you obviously aren't in a condition to do it yourself.'

'Sherlock, I'm pregnant, not crippled!' John frowned, 'And besides, I haven't found anywhere to live yet.'

Surely Sherlock wasn't going to literally throw him out on the streets? In a panic he thought that he could probably sleep on Mrs Hudson's sofa tonight, but where he'd be tomorrow...

'I _know_ that, John.'

Sherlock unwound his scarf as he strode across the room and down the hall towards his bedroom, throwing his arm towards the open door and looking meaningfully at John.

Cautiously John followed him, examining Sherlock's expression carefully before glancing in the direction the taller man was pointing.

Sherlock's bedroom door was open, and although the bed was most shielded from view by the door itself, John could just about make out a bundle of his clothes hanging off the end of the bed. On the floor, under the periodic table, was a stack of crime novels and John's gym trainers. John became aware of Sherlock still watching him intently, and he glanced at the detective, who was wearing an expression that only John would ever spot as nervous. John clenched his jaw in annoyance. If Sherlock thought he was just going to move back into his room as if the last couple of months hadn't happened then he was seriously delusional.

'Sherlock-'

'You should eliminate stairs where possible to reduce possibility of injury should you lose balance and fall, and to also reduce exertion. And since your centre of balance is likely to change as the...the...it...' Sherlock faltered for a second before drawing himself up to his full height and looking down at John with something approaching his usual cockiness, 'The only sensible option was for you to sleep in my room.'

'Sherlock-'

'I will, of course, sleep on the sofa,' Sherlock spoke over him. And then he stopped, as if realising that John was glaring at him, 'Not good?'

John softened at the worried tone.

'It's...very thoughtful.' he said, because it was, and despite the tension between them in recent weeks, John still had some deep rooted urge to acknowledge when Sherlock showed consideration for others, 'Thank you.'

In the past this was the moment when John would have stretched up and pressed a soft kiss to Sherlock's mouth, and from the way Sherlock's eyes dropped to John's lips, it was clear he was thinking the same thing. Abruptly Sherlock stepped away, crossing the living room once again and picking up his violin before John could speak again.

John watched him for a second, but Sherlock did not turn around as he started to play, and after a while John went to the kitchen to make tea.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

Clad in his usual armour of comfortable trousers and soft jumper, John didn't look pregnant at all, the bulk of the wool skillfully concealing the small bump that Sherlock now knew was there. Over the following days John had a constant sense of being watched, but when he glanced in Sherlock's direction the other man was immersed in what he was doing, seemingly oblivious to John. It was only the set of his shoulders that gave away his body's alertness, and John almost smiled at how hard Sherlock was trying to appear nonchalant.

He set a cup down beside Sherlock's elbow, causing the detective to look up at him in surprise.

'What's this?'

'Tea.'

'What's it for?'

'To drink,' John said, retreating back towards his own armchair, sinking gratefully down, reaching for his book with one hand, the other subconsciously going to his stomach, a habit he had tried to avoid since he started to show. He still felt strange about drawing attention to it. Perhaps he would have felt differently if Sherlock had been...well, not _Sherlock._ He sighed. There was no use wishing things were different. They weren't. And Sherlock wasn't going to be different. John wasn't sure he wanted him to be. If Sherlock was different he wouldn't be the person John knew and loved, and then...well, it didn't matter. Didn't help anyone to wonder about what would happen if things were different. They weren't. This was just how things were.

It was how things were going to be from now on.

When Sherlock's text message alert went off, both John and Sherlock turned automatically towards the phone. Sherlock snatched it up and John watched the way Sherlock's eyes lit up with interest as he quickly read the message. From the small smile tugging at one corner of his mouth John calculated that it was at least a seven.  He automatically got to his feet and was pulling on his coat before Sherlock had even finished reading. He held the door open for Sherlock, who launched into a description of the crime as he flew down the stairs, John following slightly slower than normal, still smiling. It wasn't until they were in the cab, halfway to Battersea that Sherlock stopped mid flow and turned to John, who had been watching out the window, ignoring Sherlock's spiel.

'Why are you hear?'

'Case,' John didn't turn around.

'But you shouldn't be here.'

'You going to kick me out of a moving cab?' John teased, watching the conflicted emotions on Sherlock's face in the reflection in the glass. The little bastard was actually thinking about it!

'Fine.' Sherlock hissed eventually, throwing himself back into his seat.

'Fine,' John repeated, still smiling out the window.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I am still updating. this fic is complete on my hard drive but I've been literally bedridden and delirious with a very savage virus these last few weeks. but now I can sit up again I'm hoping to finish this quickly. sorry for wait. love you all. x


	16. Chapter 16

'What's he doing here?' Lestrade frowned.

'Nice to see you too, Greg,' John tried to smile but it came out wrong, and clearly Greg saw that too because his frown deepened.

'You alright?' he asked, lowering his voice so only John could hear.

For a second John thought of not answering, but then he just shrugged, 'Honestly, I have no idea.'

They watched Sherlock swish around the body for a few moments, his eyes alight with excitement and John felt a little stab in his chest at the joy on the detective's face, and he wished that Sherlock would look at _him_ like that just once more. But that wasn't going to happen now. John's hand automatically went to his stomach, a habit he was still trying to cure himself of, at least in public.

Lestrade may not have had Sherlock's observational skills but even he noticed the movement and the way John's eyes were following Sherlock about. His smile was a sad one. Seemingly without realising what he was doing, he reached out and rubbed John's shoulder reassuringly.

A cold hand clamped around John's wrist and he was whirled around and away from Lestrade in one swift movement that was almost graceful.

'Sherlock!' John complained, but Sherlock just pulled John closer to him.

'I require your assistance.'

John sighed, and sharing a look with Lestrade, he followed Sherlock.

 

#

 

Lestrade watched with great amusement as Sherlock kept John within arms reach at all times, his cat eyes flicking up constantly to check the location of the doctor. It was almost endearing to watch. Lestrade was certain he was the only one who had seen the warning look Sherlock had thrown him as he carted John away.

 

#

 

John came out of the shower to find Sherlock in a deep and contemplative mood. He was sitting in his armchair, the euphoria of the case already subsiding. John sighed. The last thing he wanted to deal with was a bored Sherlock. John made his way through to the kitchen, still towelling his hair dry, and flicked the kettle on, surprised when Sherlock followed him.

'Tea?' he asked.

Sherlock ignored his question and instead focused all of his attention on John's face.

'John, I...' the taller man paused, uncertain, then he plowed on quickly, 'I have given this situation a lot of thought and I believe we can come to some sort of compromise.'

'Compromise?' John couldn't keep the amusement out of his voice, 'You can't _compromise_ when it comes to a baby, Sherlock.'

'John, please. Hear me out. I do not wish our relationship to end, but nor do I want a baby.'

'Sherlock-'

'John, _please!_ ' Sherlock sighed in exasperation, 'I'm trying to explain if you'll just....I don't want a baby.' Sherlock repeated firmly, 'But I want you. And YOU want the baby.'

John bit his lip, waiting for Sherlock to go on. None of this was new.

'What I'm trying to say is that, if it's enough for you, I won't give you false hope regarding my feelings towards things, but if accepting this is what it takes to keep you here with me then I am willing to try.'

'Try what, exactly?' John asked slowly.

'Try.' Sherlock repeated, and then he lowered his voice a little, 'If that's enough for you.'

John regarded him for a long moment, and then he blinked slowly as the weight of Sherlock's words settled on him.

'I'm not sure it is.'


	17. Chapter 17

Sherlock frowned.

'I don't understand.'

Behind John the kettle finished boiling, but he stayed facing Sherlock.

'What don't you understand, Sherlock?' John knew from experience that sometimes you had to be very specific when questioning Sherlock.

'I offered to accept the baby if you stay, what more do you want?'

'I don't want you just to _accept_ it,' John sighed, part of him wondering what exactly it was he did want from Sherlock. 'Sherlock, that's not how this is supposed to work.' he shook his head, 'This is why I didn't want to stay here. It just gets things all confused.'

'But where else would you go?'

John opened his mouth to repeat his original plan to go home, but at the look on Sherlock's face he closed it again.

'I need my blogger.'

'No you don't.'

'Who else is going to look after me?'

At that John felt a spike of anger, 'Can you see me right now?' he demanded, louder than he intended, 'Can you? Take a good look Sherlock.' he waved a hand in the general vicinity of his stomach, 'In a couple of months I am going to have a baby. Do you know how much looking after a baby needs? I am not your mother, or your bloody housekeeper and I'm not going to stay here in this farcical set up just so you don't have to make your own bloody tea!'

There was silence for a long time, the only sound John's heavy breathing.

'I don't know what else to offer you,' Sherlock's voice was so quiet that John had to struggle to make out the words.

John's chest tightened and he had to stop himself moving forward to comfort Sherlock. Instead he turned and retrieved the milk from the fridge, giving Sherlock a few moments to recompose himself before they carried on the conversation. But when John turned back Sherlock still looked just as wretched.

'Look,' he said softly, 'I know this isn't what either of us want.'

'Don't go.'

'I can't stay here and raise a child here if you are just going to _tolerate_ it's existence.'

'Sentiment isn't my strong point.'

'I know,' John tried to smile reassuringly, but his face wouldn't cooperate.

'When I met you I didn't expect to...that is to say I...' Sherlock straightened up, 'I was unprepared for you and it took a long time for me to learn how to care about you. I don't want to make promises that I will be able to replicate that process with a baby, and it would be unfair to let you linger under the impression that one day I will. But regardless, this baby is, as you keep pointing out, coming whether I like I or not. And while I have no desire to start playing some form of happy families, I will do what it takes to keep you here,' he paused and searched John's face, 'Even if that's just as a flatmate.'

'That's not really fair on either of us though, is it?'

Sherlock didn't answer.

'Sherlock, I don't really know what you want me to say.'

'Say that you will stay here.'

'And when the baby comes?' John sighed again.

There was a pause and Sherlock bit his lip, clearly worried about his next words, 'I would like to try and learn to love it.'

And those words, spoken so plainly, caused John's heart to break, and he knew he would stay.

 


	18. Chapter 18

Greg was not avoiding Mycroft. At least, that's what he told himself. He just needed a bit of time to...think about things, and it was probably best to do that on his own. It wasn't that he didn't want to see Mycroft, because he did, desperately. But he also didn't want a fight and he knew that's what would happen if he tried to have a conversation with the other man right now. Mycroft, for his part, was making that easy by never being around. That in itself was nothing incredibly unusual, but what was new were the fleeting glances of hurt and apology that Mycroft shot him on the rare occassions their paths crossed at home.

The whole situation was strangely reminiscent of the early days of their relationship when neither of them was really sure what was going on, back when Mycroft was unsure of Greg's feelings and insecure in his own self, and Greg was still struggling with the pain of his marriage and the uncertainty of a new relationship, especially with someone like Mycroft Holmes. Back then their relationship had been filled with meaningful looks and strange silences that neither was really brave enough to fill.

Of course, knowing what he knew now, Greg understood so much more of that time, and he wished once more that he'd known everything. He would have stayed. He never would have tried to fix his marriage, and he wouldn't have wasted so much time, time that he could have spent with Mycroft instead. But a tiny little part of him knew that Mycroft was right about it too. It would have been the wrong reason. If he'd known about the baby, if he'd stayed because of it, then he would have always wondered what would have happened if he'd tried to fix his marriage instead.

And having a baby hadn't exactly worked out so well for John and Sherlock.

But knowing all of these things didn't make them any easier.

He let himself into the house he shared with Mycroft and was surprised to see the door to Mycroft's study open. For the last few weeks that door had been closed tight, a clear sign that Mycroft was hiding. Not that the British Government would ever admit to hiding in his own home. Greg found him in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He looked up in surprise when Greg entered, clearly unsure whether to make a run for the santuary of his office or not. The uncertainty on his face melted Greg's heart a little.

'Hi,' he managed.

Mycroft hovered a moment, his hand still on the coffee pot.

'Coffee?'

Greg tried to smile, 'Thanks.'

Another cup was retrieved and he watched Mycroft pour it out with just the barest shaking of his hand. Before Mycroft could lift it to pass it over, Greg stepped forward and wrapped him in a tight hug that pinned the man's arms to his sides and didn't allow him to move away. Mycroft tensed, but Greg only tightened his hold, his cheek pressed against Mycroft's hair, and after a few seconds he felt the redhead relax in his arms, his forehead falling forward against Greg's shoulder.

Neither of them spoke, and Greg wasn't entirely sure how long they stood like that, but by the time they finally pulled apart the coffee was cold.

*

They didn't talk about why they had fought. In fact they didn't talk about much at all. But it was such a relief to be back in each other's presence again that, for the moment at least, neither of them really minded.

It was two nights later when Mycroft was the first to address the subject. Greg was undressing for bed, where Mycroft was already settled, book open on his lap.

'I was at the doctor today,' he began carefully, and Greg felt an automatic stab of worry that he tried to control.

'Are you okay?'

Mycroft nodded, 'I just wanted to find out what the...options were.'

'Options...you...oh.' Whatever Greg had expected him to say, that hadn't been it. He sat down on the bed, his teeshirt still in his hands, and just looked at Mycroft, 'And? Is it...I mean...is it reversible, or...?'

Mycroft shook his head, 'No.'

'Oh.' the little bubble of hope that had started to form disapeared and with an uncharacteristic surge of bitterness Greg wondered why Mycroft was telling him.

'There are, however, other...possibilities. Options.' Mycroft was forming the words carefully, not quite looking at Greg as he spoke, as if worried about what he might see on the policeman's face.

'What do you mean?'

'I mean that there are other methods we can explore. They are more complicated and time consuming and with no guaretee of sucess, but if you were amenable then...' he paused and finally lifted his gaze to meet Greg's, 'What I'm saying is that if you really want us to have a family then there are possibilities we can explore.'

Greg just stared at him for a long time as he digested what Mycroft had just said.

'Mycroft,' he said slowly, knowing that whatever they said right then would be important, 'What do you want? Do you want to try for a baby?'

Mycroft had obviously spent time considering this, because when he nodded it was the slow, sure gesture Greg associated with the politicans decisions.

'I believe I would.'

 

 

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

John came out of the bathroom to find Sherlock pacing the flat, frantically texting on his phone.

'Finally John!' he said without looking up, 'Get your coat, we have a case.'

'You'll have to go on your own.'

'What? But it's an eight!' Sherlock's eyes were wide with excitement.

John was struggling into his coat which was already too small for him.

'I have a scan at the hospital.'

'Since when?'

'The appointment card has been on the fridge for a month, Sherlock.'

'You can reschedule.'

'I could,' John said slowly, 'But I'm not going to.'

'But John-'

John ignored his protests and checked his pockets for his keys and wallet, 'Have fun. You can tell me all about it this evening.'

He was climbing into a cab when the opposite door opened and the consulting detective settled himself into the seat beside him.

'Sherlock,' John sighed, 'I need this cab. You'll have to get the next one.'

'I'm coming with you.'

John gaped at him, 'What?'

'Don't make me repeat myself, JOhn.'

'Okay,' John rugged his forehead, 'Why are you coming?'

'Isn't that what people do? Go to scans and appointments?'

'People, yes. YOu? Not so much.'

Sherlock didn't even pretend to look hurt, instead he returned his attention to his mobile as the cab pulled out into the traffic.

'Moral support is important in maintaining emotional wellbeing suring pregnancy which can help reduce stress levels which in turn can be of benefit to-'

'I know!' John spoke over him, more than a touch of annoyance in his voice, 'I am a doctor.'

'Well then, glad we're in agreement.'

'Sherlock, we are not in agreement,' JOhn began, already feeling his stress levels start to rise as the prospect of Sherlock loose in the maternity clinic. A thought suddenly struck him, 'You aren't coming along because you think you're going to get to do some sort of experiment?'

'You said I wasn't allowed to do experiments of living things anymore.' Sherlock didn't even look up as his fingers flew across his phone, 'Although I'll admit that the opportunity to collect growth data is an intriguing one. That said since I don't have the measurements from your previous appointments I cannot accurately assess if the baby is developing at an optimum rate.'

'It's developing just fine,' JOhn felt suddenly defensive, something that Sherlock clearly noticed because he lifted his head and studied John for a few seconds. John thought he was going to say something, but the detective closed his mouth again and returned his attention to whoever he was texting, 'What about the case?'

'Later.'

'I thought it was an eight?'

'He's not likely to get any more dead in the next few hours.'

John thought about this, 'Fair enough.'

*

In the waiting room John studied the posters on the walls and tried to ignore the appraising glances Sherlock was recieving. John didn't need to see the expressions on the other patients faces to know that they were all wondering how the tall, pale detective had ended up with the older doctor. John was, sadly, all too aware of the open wonder strangers expressed when they saw the two together. Sherlock was reading a leaflet about vagina prolapse, completely oblivious to the lustful glances he was recieving from several heavily pregnant patients and more than one or two of their partners as well.

John was tired and uncomfortable. His back and hips ached and he was desperate to go to the bathroom.

'You shouldn't hold it in,' Sherlock said, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

'Need a full bladder for the scan,' John muttered, not wanting to call too much attnetion to his discomfort. He was glad when his name was called. When he realised Sherlock wasn't following him, JOhn looked back over his shoulder, 'Are you coming or what?'

Sherlock was on his feet in a second, following JOhn with long strides. Once inside the small room ultrasound room Sherlock hovered uncertainly by the door as John was questioned and settled on the bed. He didn't move at all as John's jumper was pushed up to reveal his rounded stomach, although John could feel Sherlock's intense gaze on him, and he liefted his head slightly.

'Come and see,' he said, as the sonographer gently began to probe his stomach. He was aware that Sherlock handn't seen him like this before, hadn't really seen his changing form, and so it was all new to the other man, which is why he was watching Sherlock instead of the screen. It was only when Sherlock's expression changed to one of uncontained suprise that John looked around, and he had to admit to being a little suprised himself. What had previously been an indistinct grey shape was not clearly, obviously a baby, head and limbs clearly defined.

Measurements were taken, reassurances over development were given, and all the while John and Sherlock just watched as the little shaped flexed it's legs and arms. Then Sherlock frowned.

'What's wrong?' John asked, converned that Sherlock, following his recent research binge, had spotted something he hadn't,

'It flipped me off.' the indignation was so clear in his voice that both John and the sonographer laughed.

'No he didn't,' John managed.

'He did,' Sherlock insisted, and then he glared at John as if it were somehow John's fault, 'He gets that from you.'

John felt a sudden rush of affection for the other man and almost reached out for his hand.

'You're mad,' he said.

'I can assure you that mental instability is not a factor which is present in my personal-'

JOhn cut him off with another laugh.

'Completely mad!'

 


	20. Chapter 20

After Sherlock's unexpected accompaniment during JOhn's scan, the doctor had allowed himself to think that Sherlock was actually changing his mind afterall. But that proved to be a stupid hope as was made clear when John suggested Sherlock might like to help him shop for things for the baby.

'Why would I want to do that?' Sherlock hasn't even looked up from the flask he was observing.

John sighed, 'I have no idea.'

Without another words he took his laptop into Sherlock's room and closed the door. Settling himself on the bed he spent the next hour on the Ikea website half-heartedly choosing furniture he couldn't really afford and that they certainly didn't have room for. He hadn't want to admit it, but he had been looking forward to picking out cots and changing mats, and had been harbouring a vision of dragging Sherlock from shop to shop, arguing about styles and timing how long before Sherlock threw a tantrum. But since Sherlock clearly wasn't interested, some of the excitement had worn off and John just couldn't face doing it on his own.

It was all working out a lot more expensive than he expected, and the few bits of furniture he had ordered had wiped out most of his meagre savings.

He'd been practical over the last few months, making a list of essential items and sticking to it. Every week when he did the shopping he would add a multipack of babygrows or vests to the basket, always paying for them separately with his own money and storing them in a drawer in preparation. He didn't know why he felt the need to keep that from Sherlock, but some part of John needed to prove to himself that he could do this on his own.

Which was a good thing given Sherlock's lack of interest.

Although how John would cope long term was a different matter altogether. He closed his eyes telling himself there was plenty of time to worry about that later. Lots of single parents coped. He would cope too.

He have an involuntary laugh. That's what he was going to be now. A single parent. Even if he was sleeping in Sherlock's bed and the man himself sat across the breakfast table every morning, it was still John on his own. Once more he thought he needed to move out as soon as possible. Short term they could cope, but eventually the day would come when the baby would need it's own room, and what happened when John or Sherlock started to date again?

John rubbed his stomach and thought about how absurd it was that he was even thinking about dating given the current state of his life, but he didn't want to be alone forever, and although Sherlock's rejection of the baby hurt more than anything John had ever experienced, he hoped that one day, eventually, he might meet someone who felt differently.

He sighed. Just thinking that felt like a betrayal.

Closing his laptop John got up slowly and stretched, contemplating whether he could be bothered with the hassle of running a bath. Part of him just wanted to curl up and have a good cry, the soldier in him was having none of it. Instead he went back out to the kitchen and made himself a strong cup of tea.

'You shouldn't be drinking that.'

'Fuck off, Sherlock,' John replied cheerfully, surprising even himself.

'Caffeine is-'

'Don't you dare sit there and lecture me about what's bad for me or the baby while you have a flask of chlorine in your hand.' John raised his eyebrows meaningfully and took a sip of his tea.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes slightly and went back to what he was doing without a word.

Suddenly feeling deflated, John left his half finished cup on the counter and went to bed without another word. Sherlock didn't say anything, but John could feel the detective's eyes on him all the way to the bedroom, and when he woke up in the morning the kitchen was free of chemicals.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, some dubious biology here - please forgive me - I used my knowledge of embryo transfer in farm animals with fallopian scarring as a basis for this and just sort of transferred it to humans. I was initially worried about the accuracy of this and then I remembered this story is MPREG and so biology is basically out the window anyway.

Greg felt like he should be taking notes as the doctor spoke. Thank god Mycroft seemed to know what was talking about, because Greg got lost two minutes in and the words were just soaring over his head now.

'Right, let me see if I've got this straight,' Greg held up his hand to interrupt the other two men, 'You can't just reconnect everything?'

The doctor shook his head.

'Mr Holmes procedure cut the fallopian tubes. If they had been clamped-'

'But they weren't,' Greg didn't want to talk about the what ifs, 'So can we just focus on what we _can_ do?'

Mycroft shot him a warning look that Greg ignored.

'Mycroft's body still releases eggs, yeah?' Greg struggled with the unfamiliar biology.

'Yes, but as they have no way to travel along the fallopian tubes for fertilisation they are absorbed by his body.'

Greg nodded slowly, 'But you reckon you can...what? Collect them?'

The doctor bristled slightly, clearly displeased at having to explain things to Greg.

'We would put Mr Holmes on a course of medication to stimulate follicle development and then harvest the eggs, fertilise them and then transplant the embryo into the uterus.'

Greg found he was staring at the man.

'Well, that sounds simple enough.'

'Gregory,' Mycroft warned, picking up on the sarcastic tone, but Greg just shook his head.

'And we're all just not going to mention the bit where you'll have to cut my boyfriend open to do this?'

'Like I said, Mr Holmes procedure complicated matter and makes it more difficult to-'

'So if we do this,' Greg raised his voice, ' _If!_ Then we are only going to try this once.'

'We normally recommend at least -'

'You are _not_ going to keep slicing into him,' Greg's chest tightened at the thought of Mycroft going through that even once. He couldn't ask him to do it over and over.

He glanced at Mycroft who was giving him a strange, appraising look, and he knew that Mycroft understood.


	22. Chapter 22

With eight weeks to go John was ready for this whole pregnancy lark to be over. He was exhausted but couldn't sleep. His whole body seemed to ache all the time and the constant heartburn was an exquisite and rather brutal torture. And then there were the stairs.

Every night when he arrived home and made the slow climb to the flat, he sent a silent thank you to Sherlock for having the foresight to insist John change bedrooms. John was always so tired by the time he got home that he was sure having to climb a second flight of stairs to get to bed might actually kill him.

He was standing beside the bed carefully folding baby clothes into a neat stack when the door to the flat slammed shut and Sherlock appeared in the doorway.

'What are you doing?'

'What does it look like I'm doing?' John set the vest he had just folded on top of the pile of incredibly tiny clothes.

'Are you leaving?' Sherlock's voice was deliberately nonchalant, but John knew him well enough to hear the layer of uncertainty there.

'No. I'm packing my bag for the hospital.'

'Are you in labour?'

John laughed and shook his head, 'No, Sherlock. I'm not in labour.'

'Then why are you packing? You aren't due for another nine weeks.'

John paused, slightly taken aback that Sherlock was keeping note of when he was due. He had assumed that, if asked, Sherlock would only be able to give a vague suggestion about delivery dates.

'Just in case the baby comes early,' he said.

Sherlock frowned, 'Is that likely?'

'Who knows?' John shrugged and reached for another vest, 'Better to be prepared though.'

This was met with silence, and for a moment John thought Sherlock had left again, but when he looked up the other man was still standing in the doorway watching him.

'Was there something you wanted?'

Sherlock opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, and then he seemed to reconsider and shut it again.

'Well,' John said, throwing a baby grow at him, 'If you're just going to stand there you can at least make yourself useful.'

'What's this?' the detective looked at the garment in his hands.

'It's a babygrow.'

'It's very small.'

'Babies are small.'

Sherlock looked at the small pile John had made, 'Why are they all white?'

John sighed, 'Because I don't know if it's a boy or girl.'

Sherlock was now looking from the pile on the bed to the open drawer containing all the clothes John had bought for the baby.

'You've been shopping.' it sounded almost like an accusation.

'Yes.' John didn't point out that he did _all_ the shopping, 'Speaking of which, the cot should be arriving today and I can't carry it up the stairs on my own, so please don't give the delivery bloke any grief, yeah?'

There was silence for a while as Sherlock watched John transfer the neatly folded clothes into a bag along with his toiletries and a few other bits and pieces he thought he might need, consulting the list the midwife had given him as he did so.

'What are you going to call it?'

John blinked at the question. It was the first real interest Sherlock had shown since John's scan weeks before.

'Um, I haven't decided,' John risked a glance at Sherlock, 'Any suggestions?'

Sherlock didn't respond for a moment, and just when John was about to look away he finally spoke, 'Amelia is nice. Or Emily.'

'You read my list.'

Sherlock shrugged and tried to look as if it wasn't a big deal. John wasn't sure how to respond. He was touched that Sherlock had even thought about it.

'You only listed girls names,' Sherlock pointed out.

'Yeah,' John dropped his gaze and returned to packing, not really wanting to continue the conversation.

'What if you have a boy?'

'I thought...well,' John risked a quick glance at Sherlock before looking back down, 'I thought...William.'

The silence filled the room and John was almost afraid to look up again. When he did, Sherlock was staring at him, the slightest trace of surprise on his face, his mouth slightly open as if he wasn't sure how to respond. Then the very edge of his lips twitched into something that was very nearly a smile, and he bent down and picked up one of John's jumpers, folding it neatly and passing it to the doctor without a word.

 


	23. Chapter 23

'...and then he set fire to Anderson and did a ceremonial dance.'

Greg snapped his head around to stare at John, 'What?'

'I didn't think you were listening to me.'

Rubbing his hand over his face Greg sighed, 'Sorry mate, bit distracted.'

'I noticed. Anything you want to talk about?'

Greg thought about it for a moment, wondering how he could put into words what he was thinking and feeling, and not entirely sure how much Mycroft would appreciate him discussing those things with John.

'I dunno.'

To his credit John understood, 'Like that, is it?'

'Yeah.'

'You still sleeping in the spare room?'

'Yeah.'

'Ah.'

'Although it doesn't matter because Mycroft seems to stay at the office most nights.'

He didn't need to look at John to know that the doctor was giving him a sympathetic look. He could do with talking through things with a friend, but the only person he trusted was John, and John had enough of his own issues without Greg adding to them. The fact that he had called Greg to help him assemble the cot rather than ask Sherlock was a sure sign that things with the other man were not going well.

Greg was seated on the floor of Sherlock's room, having pushed the bed back against the far wall to try and create enough space for the cot. John was sitting with his back against the bed, frowning at the instruction booklet. Greg had tried to tell him that he could manage, but John had insisted on trying to help, although having lowered himself to the ground without incident, John wasn't too optimistic about getting back to his feet without help.

'You ready for this?' Greg asked, selecting the right sized screw.

'Not really,' John admitted, 'Although it's all getting a bit real now.'

'And his lordship?'

'What do you think?'

'I think he needs to get his fucking act together,' Greg said a bit more forcefully than he intended.

John obviously thought so too, because when Greg looked up he was staring at him wide eyed.

'What?' Greg demanded.

'Nothing,' John licked his lips, 'I just wasn't expecting such a strong reaction.'

'Well then?'

'Well then what?'

'What are you going to do about Sherlock?'

'I don't know what you-'

'Look,' Greg cut him off, 'It's none of my business, but seriously, mate, this isn't healthy. You're either together or you aren't. And if you are then he needs to realise that this baby is coming whether he likes it or not, and if you aren't together then you need to move out, because this isn't healthy.'

In the silence that followed Greg's outburst the only sound was John's slightly laboured breathing.

'He wants to stay together,' John said quietly.

But Greg heard the uncertainty in John's voice and continued to glare at him until John spoke again.

'He said he would 'accept' the baby,' he said bitterly.

'Ah,' Greg nodded in understanding, 'And you want more than that from him?'

'Of course I do.'

'John,' Greg said carefully, looking down at the screwdriver in his hand, 'Do you remember how long it took Sherlock to admit he cared about you? It took _years_ John. If you think he'd just going to suddenly care about this baby then you are deluded.'

'But he _should_ care about it!'

'Yeah, he should. But this is Sherlock,' Greg said softly, 'He's not like other people. He's not...good with feelings.'

'I've noticed,' John pressed his lips into a thin line.

'Well then,' Greg tightened the screw closest to him, 'So what are you going to do?'

John sighed, 'Fucked if I know.'

'You shouldn't swear in front of the baby.'

John laughed and threw the instruction booklet at him.

'Oi!' Greg threw his arm up to defend himself.

'What are you doing?' a baritone voice asked from the door.

John smiled up at Sherlock, 'We're putting the cot up.'

Sherlock didn't smile back, instead his frown deepened as he cast his eye over the debris on the floor.

'You shouldn't be sitting down there,' he said to John, ignoring Greg's presence completely.

'I'm fine,' John assured him.

Sherlock didn't respond, he just continued to stare at John until John sighed and started to try and get to his feet, which he quickly realised was not going to be an easy or dignified feat. He looked at Sherlock for help, but Sherlock continued to look at him without moving. Eventually Greg got to his feet and reached down to help John up.

'Thanks,' John muttered, shooting a frown in Sherlock's direction.

Sherlock still hadn't moved, and John edged around him and out the door.

'Tea?' he asked over his shoulder.

'Thanks,' Greg answered, but he was looking at Sherlock, who had turned his attention back to the half assembled cot, his distaste evident.

'What was John thinking?'

Greg bit back the urge to punch Sherlock and instead said, 'He was thinking that this was what he could afford.'

'But we have lots of money.'

' _You_ have lots of money,' Greg pointed out, causing Sherlock to pause. Greg didn't wait around to hear what Sherlock said next, instead he pushed around him and followed John into the kitchen.

 


	24. Chapter 24

Mycroft sat in bed, his laptop open, and listened to the sounds of Greg moving about the house. The rush of water from the dishwasher, the slam of a kitchen cabinet, soft clicks as lights were turned off one after the other, and then a weary tread on the stairs.

As the footsteps passed their bedroom, Mycroft let out a breath he had been holding and closed his eyes against his disappointment. Then he shut down his laptop and turned the lamp off, before rolling onto the far side of the bed and closing his eyes.

Sometime later he heard the shower turn off and he listened as once more footsteps crossed the hall. This time they paused outside the door for the briefest of moments before the door opened and Greg slipped into the room. Without a word he crossed to the bed where Mycroft hadn't moved, and lay down on top of the sheets. They stayed like that for a long time, Mycroft on his side, facing away from Greg, and Greg on his back, looking up at the dark ceiling.

'If you don't want to do this, it's okay.' Greg's voice was just a whisper, but it was clear he had rehearsed the words.

'But it's not, is it?' Mycroft didn't move as he spoke.

Beside him Greg let out a deep breath.

'Not really, Mycroft.' There was a long pause and when Greg spoke again his words were careful, 'Do you want to do this?'

'I do,' Mycroft didn't even hesitate, 'But what if...if I didn't?'

He didn't know what reaction he was expecting, but it wasn't the comforting weight of Greg's arm around him, his breath on the back of Mycroft's neck.

'I'm not going to make you do something you don't want to.'

'Will you leave?'

Mycroft counted the breaths it took before Greg replied. Six...seven...

'I thought about it,' Greg's voice was small, but it stabbed at Mycroft's heart, 'You lied to me, Myc. A lot. And for a really long time. I had all these plans for us. All these... _assumptions_ about what out live was going to be and you just kicked it all out from under me and...to be honest I really didn't know what I was going to do,' Greg pressed his forehead against the back of Mycroft's neck, 'But I'm not going to leave, if that's what you think.'

'Even if I say no?'

Greg's hold tightened around him and he didn't answer because he didn't have to. Instead he kicked Mycroft's shoulder and allowed Mycroft to lace their fingers together.

'Myc?' he said eventually, cautiously.

'Hmm?'

'What was it like? The last time, I mean, when...'

Mycroft thought back to those weeks he had kept his news to himself, the prospect of surprising Greg on his return keeping him going during weeks of endless meetings, Then the day it was all taken away. The long night that followed, full of the pain of induced labour and the agony of his own heart breaking. The days that followed in a haze of drugs and grief. The lie in his forced cheerfulness when on the phone with an oblivious Greg. The private agony that clouded everything since. The guilt and the constant belief that he was being punished that had blighted every day, every interaction with Greg since then.

He had no idea how to put any of that into words. All he could do was close his eyes and let the grief flow through him, leaning back against Greg. Solid, trusting, loving Greg. Greg who still loved him after everything. Who still wanted him. Who was still holding him as his heart shattered all over again.


	25. Chapter 25

John Watson thought he was more or less unshockable after living with Sherlock for so long, but here he was, standing in the doorway of what had once been Sherlock's room, looking at the space which had previously been occupied by the simple white cot he had ordered, and which was now full of expensive dark wood in soft curves, looking like it cost more than most people spent on their car.

He was still standing there when the door slammed behind him and Sherlock's voice could be heard complaining about the traffic.

'Sherlock,' John called, unable to divert his eyes from the sight before him, 'Can you come here a minute?'

'Yes John?' Sherlock appeared at his shoulder, still unbuttoning his coat.

'What's that?'

'What? Oh. That's a cot, John.'

'What happened to the one I bought?'

'I sent it back.'

'You sent- why?'

'It was awful, John.'

'It was all I could...do I even want to know how much this cost?'

'Nothing.'

'Tell me you didn't steal it,' John closed his eyes.

'Of course not!' Sherlock actually managed to sound affronted, 'Mummy sent it.'

'Sherlock, we can't accept this. It's too much.'

'Nonsense, John.'

'Your parents are retired, they shouldn't be spending this sort of money. It'll have to go back. Have you got he receipt?'

'No.'

'Jesus,' John took a deep breath, trying to work out how he was going to pay Mrs Holmes back, because he was not going to start accepting extravagant gifts. Not when he could provide for his own child, thank you very much. 'It had to go back.'

'If you insist. I simply thought it was senseless to purchase a new, albeit inferior, cot when this one was available. I know how you hate to waste money.'

'What do you mean 'available'?'

'It was mine,' Sherlock said simply.

'Yours?'

Sherlock gave him a look that indicated he thought John was simple, 'Well, not recently, but yes, at one point.'

John looked from Sherlock back to the cot, suddenly not sure what to think.

'This was yours?' he repeated, 'From when you were a baby?'

'I've already said-'

'And your mum kept it all these years?'

'I think she was rather hoping an occasion would arise when it would be used again.'

'And you want...you want... _this_ baby,' John carefully avoided the word 'our', 'To use it?'

Sherlock assumed a haughty expression, 'Personally it makes no difference. A cot is a cot and it's not as if the baby will have an aesthetic preference. However I know how you go in for sentiment and thought you would place significance on using it. Also, Mummy insisted.'

John stared at him open mouthed while Sherlock refused to meet his eye. Then he smiled.

'And?'

'And what?'

John just continued to stare at him until Sherlock cracked and glared at him.

'And it's prettier than the other one.'

John started to laugh as he raised himself on his tiptoes to kiss Sherlock's cheek.

'Tea?'


	26. Chapter 26

Over the following weeks Mycroft forged a new routine. Gone were the punishing early morning runs, the lunchtime scotch and the evening wine. Now his mornings began with a hormone injection and a healthy breakfast. There were no more skipped meals or diets. Instead Greg insisted that they follow the advice of the doctor, perhaps a little too enthusiastically if the boxes of vitamins and folic acid that appeared in the bathroom cabinet were anything to go by.

Every day when Mycroft went to shut himself in the bathroom, self conscious about injecting himself, Greg would ask the same silent question.

Are you sure.

And every morning Mycroft would kiss him and nod.

Greg hand't moved back into their room immediately after that night. It had taken several more days of murmured conversations and just being close to each other again and one night where there both fell asleep together on the sofa.

'I'm too old for this,' Greg had complained when he woke with a sore neck in the early hours of the morning. Mycroft had turned off the TV before following Greg upstairs where they collapsed into bed beside each other.

Since then things had been...difficult. Painful in the brutal honesty they now shared, but also liberating. Mycroft felt like he could tell Greg anything now. Things weren't quite back to normal. Sex hadn't featured at all. But physically they had never been closer. They were always touching each other, whether it was their feet entangled under the dining table, or wrapped around each other in sleep, neither could stand to be without the other for too long.

They hadn't told anyone what they were doing. It wasn't exactly a secret, but Mycroft didn't have anyone to tell, except perhaps his parents, but they were so worried about John and Sherlock that it didn't seem fair to get their hopes up over something that might not happen. And the only person Greg would have discussed it with was John, who he was reluctant to talk to about the issue.

'Did you know Sherlock got your mum to send over his old cot?' Greg asked Mycroft over dinner one night.

'Mummy mentioned it,' Mycroft admitted. He'd had a very frank discussion with his mother about his younger brother, but he wasn't as reassured as he had hoped he would be, 'She thinks it's a good sign.'

'Yeah?'

'Perhaps,' Mycroft took another bite of his fish as he thought, 'Mummy is convinced that Sherlock is coming around to his impending fatherhood and that we are all over reacting.'

'And what do you think?'

'What can one ever think when it comes to Sherlock?'


	27. Chapter 27

There was something strange going on in 221B. John moved around with the constant feeling of being watched, even when he was sure he was in the flat alone. He would get it when he woke up from a nap, or when he moved through to the kitchen to make dinner. He got it when he was reading in his armchair and Sherlock was doing whatever it was that he did in the kitchen.

It finally came to a head when he woke up on the sofa convinced someone was watching him. But when he sat up he was alone in the room and Sherlock could be hear muttering to himself at the kitchen table. John padded through silently to find Sherlock deeply engrossed in an experiment that appeared to involved pouring acid onto sausages.

'I bought those for dinner!' John complained, heading to the kettle.

'Order in.'

'Can't afford to order in. I'm trying to save money, remember.'

'But we have money!' Sherlock huffed.

'Oh really?' John shook his head and thought it must be nice to live in Sherlockland.

'Counter, John.' Sherlock nodded towards the breadbin and then went back to what he was doing.

Flicking the kettle on, John stretched across to pick up the heavy white envelope with his name in loopy script. Inside was a cheque made out in his name for twenty thousand pounds.

He stared at it until Sherlock finally looked back up.

'Is it not enough?' he asked, looking genuinely worried.

'What is this?'

'Money, John.'

'I can see that. But what I'm asking is why you've written me a cheque for so much?'

'I assumed the baby would need...things.'

'Not twenty grand's worth of things.'

Sherlock frowned, confused, 'I don't understand.'

The tension across John's shoulders increased and all he wanted to do was lie down again, 'Of course you don't.'

'I was led to believe that raising a child is expensive, and it was pointed out to me that I may have been negligent in that regard to date, so I wish to rectify matters.'

'By writing me a cheque?'

Sherlock coloured slightly and ducked his head a little, 'I was going to put it into your account but I didn't know the details.'

Early in their friendship, when it became clear that Sherlock was useless about things like paying the electricity bill, they had set up a joint account into which money was transferred every month from their own personal accounts and used to pay the bills and rent and repairs to whatever Sherlock had damaged that week. Although John, if asked, would have bet a years salary that Sherlock didn't even know which bank that account was with, never mind the account number.

'I need some air,' John said, abandoning his half made tea.

'I'll come with you.'

'No,' John raised his hand to stop the other man, 'I'll be fine. You stay here and clean up...whatever this is.'

Sherlock waited until John was almost out the door before he spoke again.

'I mean to provide for both of you.'

John turned around to respond, but Sherlock had already ducked his head back down.

 

#

 

'Where is he?'

Greg stepped back as John pushed past him without so much as a greeting.

'Nice to see you too, John. Do come in. Would you like some tea?'

John stopped half way down the hall and glared at Greg, 'Where. Is. Mycroft?'

'Belgium. I think. Or maybe Bruges. No, wait, that's in Belgium, isn't it?' Greg didn't seem perturbed by John's anger.

'Greg,' John clenched his fists, 'I'm really not in the mood.'

'Okay,' Greg sighed and led the way through to the kitchen, 'Why don't you tell me what he's done this time while I make some tea. You still on that decaf shite?'

While Greg busied himself with the kettle and mugs, John struggled out of his oversized coat and draped it across a free chair. When Greg turned around again his mouth opened as he took in John's body. Squirming self consciously, John eased himself down onto a chair.

'You alright?'

Greg blinked, 'Um, yeah. I just wasn't expecting...well. Wow. You're...'

'Massive?' despite everything, John give him a half smile.

'Yeah.' Greg laughed, 'You look great.'

There was something in Greg's voice that wasn't quite right, and if John hadn't been so preoccupied with his own reasons for visiting he might have noticed. Instead he waited until Greg handed him a cup and took the seat opposite him.

'So, what has Mr Queen and Country done now?'

'Has he got cameras in our flat?'

He had expected Greg to laugh it off, but instead the policeman bit his lip and avoided looking at John.

'Greg?' John's voice rose.

Eventually Greg lifted his head and his gaze met John's.

'Look, it's just the one and Sherlock agreed to it.'

'What?' John fought hard to keep his voice level.

'When Sherlock found out you were pregnant he didn't like leaving you alone in the flat, which is kinda funny because you're far more dangerous than he is, but even so, he got it into his head that you needed a bit of extra security when he wasn't there. So he asked Mycroft to keep watch and make sure you are okay.'

'So Mycroft has been watching my every move?' John bristled.

'No,' Greg shook his head, 'The camera only catches the door. One of his minions gets an alert every time the door opend and they take note of who comes in or out.' he held up his hands, 'That's it. I swear.'

'And you think that's okay?'

'Hell no. But it was the first thing I've seen them agree on in years, so I wasn't going to piss all over it. Besides...'

'Besides what?'

'Well,' Greg looked awkward, 'It's kind of nice knowing that he's worried about you, isn't it?'

'Sherlock doesn't worry. Certainly not about me.

'Sherlock _only_ worries about you.'

Greg was frowning at John now, chewing on his lip as if he wasn't sure about whatever war was going on in his mind. Eventually he pushed back his chair and motioned for John to follow him.

'There's something you should see.'


	28. Chapter 28

John leaned back in his seat as Greg shut the laptop off again.  
'Well,' he said with a deep sigh.  
'Hmm.' Greg studied him carefully as if waiting to see how he was going to react.  
'And that's the only camera?'  
Greg nodded, confident in that at least. He and Mycroft had already had words about that one camera and he knew that Mycroft wouldn't lie outright to him. Not now. Even so, he watched John carefully, waiting to see if he was going to have some sort of outburtst.  
'So, on a scale of one to Sherlock's-set-fire-to-the-kitchen-again, how angry are you?'  
Despite himself John laughed, even if it was slightly bitter, 'I'm...not. Really. I don't think so.'  
Greg didn't look too convinced, but wisely kept it to himself. Instead he said, 'I can get Mycroft to take it down if you want.'  
John seemed to think about this for a moment, and then he shook his head.  
'No. It's...fine. I mean, well, it's not fine but,' John sighed, 'If that's the only one then I suppose I can't really complain.'  
'Seriously?'  
John shrugged, 'Security, right?'  
'If you say so.' Greg kept looking at John, unsure what was going through the mind of the smaller man, 'Look, if you want me to-'  
'It's fine.' John stood up slowly, aware of the changes in his centre of gravity and the aches in his back and hips, 'I'd best be going.'  
'Don't tell him I told you,' Greg pleaded, to which John just nodded.  
'Course.'  
John reached for his coat and Greg was on his feet in a second, instinctively helping John into the garment. John accepted the help gratefully, but at the same time he couldn't help the sense of disapointment that came with it when he remembered how Sherlock didn't help him with such things.  
'Are you alright?' Greg asked, stepping back as John buttoned up his coat.  
'No, not really.'  
'John...' Greg began, but then he realised that he really didn't know how to finish that sentence. Instead he shrugged, 'Don't be too hard on him. He cares, he's just really shit at showing it.'  
'Holmes family problems,' John smiled.  
'Tell me about it.'  
John studied his friend for a second, 'You alright?'  
'Yeah,' Greg said, even though he felt anything but.  
'If you want to talk...'  
'Yeah, I know.' he took a deep breath and straightened up, 'You want a ride home?'  
'Nah. I like the walk.'  
'Surprised you can still manage it.'  
'Fuck off!' John said, although he was smiling as he spoke, one hand still cradling his belly.  
Greg couldn't help the pang of longing that came with watching John make that simple movement, and he fought back the urge to confide everything in John. Instead he smiled and followed John to the door.  
'If you need someone to talk to...'  
John smiled at him, a genuine smile, even if it was slightly pained, 'I know.'  
And then John was gone, striding down the road with determination.

#

It took over an hour before John got any sort of reaction. He had started slowly, curled up on the sofa, book in hand, pretending to read. Over time he concentrated on slowling his breathing, allowing his eyes to droop closed as he sank deeper into the sofa. Another ten minutes and he allowed the book in his hands to fall. Still there was no reaction. Another couple of minutes and John was about to give up and get up again when he heard the soft scrape of a chair against the linoleum in the kitchen. This was followed by the cautious padding of bare feet across the floor.  
They stopped on the other side of the coffee table, and John could feel Sherlock's eyes on him as he lay there. He didn't move for a long time, waiting to see if Sherlock would react in any way, aware of the strange sensation of being the dole focus of someone else's sole attention.   
He let the minutes pass until he couldn't stand to stay still any longer. He shuffled slightly in his 'sleep' and turned onto his side, facing out into the room. The sound of retreating footsteps was almost inaudible over the sound he made when moving, but John had been listening out for Sherlock's retreat to the sanctuary of the kitchen and he would have smiled if it wasn't so confusing.  
On his side on the sofa he once again concentrated on his breathing, allowing it to even out and slow. Minutes passed before he heard the sound again. Cautious footsteps moving back across the floor, soft breaths just feet away as Sherlock once again took up his postion close to John, watching him with those strange aqua eyes of his.  
Instead of feeling uncomfortable, as he imagined he would, John felt strangely comforted knowing that Sherlock was close by, keeping watch over him. Although the knowledge that one of Mycroft's minions was doing the same thing was slightly unpleasant.  
Sherlock didn't move. Didn't stretch his legs, shift position of make a sound beyond the soft and almost silent breaths.  
The John opened his eyes and looked directly at Sherlock.  
The reaction was instant. Sherlock's eyes grew wide with shock and he rose gracefully to his feet, disapearing towards the kitchen in the blink of an eye.  
As soon as he was gone John felt guilty for reasons he couldn't fully understand, and he once again closed his eyes, deciding that pretending to sleep was preferable to whatever confrontation might come. Once again time passed and the footsteps returned, but this time they only came as far as the archway from the kitchen and then paused. John could feel Sherlock watching him and he continued to feign sleep, not wanting to embarrass Sherlock, but also wanting time to think about what he had seen on the camera, and now had witnessed first hand.


	29. Chapter 29

'I require your assistance.'

Mycroft looked up from his paperwork at his younger brother who had just swanned into his office unannounced. He had only arrived back home the day before and was still trying to catch up on matters that required his attention, so he could have done without a Sherlock-induced disruption to his day.

'Regarding?'

'John.'

Mycroft pressed his lips together, holding back the retort that was ready to slip out, knowing that any comment from him was likely to send Sherlock into a sulky silence that would disrupt more than just Mycroft's day. Setting down his pen he turned his full attention to Sherlock.

'And how, pray tell, do you think I am qualified to assist?'

Sherlock threw himself into the seat on the other side of the desk, 'Well, you have somehow managed to maintain a seemingly steady relationship with Lestrade despite your obvious failings.'

'If you are seeking my help you are not going about it in the right way.'

Sherlock ignored the comment, 'I require access to my trust fund.'

'No.'

'Mycroft!'

'You are aware of the reasons. You're allowance is sufficient.'

'It's not for me.'

'Oh?'

'Don't look at me like that,' Sherlock snapped, 'You are perfectly aware what I mean.'

'Am I?' Mycroft tilted his head in the way he knew Sherlock found most irritating and maintained his faux confused expression.

'John is having a baby.'

'Ah, so that's what that is.'

'And he is insisting on working,' Sherlock curled his lip as if the mere idea of John having a job was repulsive to him.

'Yes, I can see how that would interfere with his running around after you.'

'He's worried about money.'

'Has he said that?' Mycroft already knew the answer to that.

'Of course not. Although Lestrade informs me that John is worried about being able to financially support himself after the baby is born.'

'And you didn't think to address this with John?'

Sherlock paused and Mycroft had his answer.

'You wrote him a cheque, didn't you?'

Sherlock pretended to be interested in the painting behind Mycroft's desk.

'How much did you try to give him?'

'Twenty thousand pounds.'

A raised eyebrow was the only expression of surprise that Mycroft gave. Sherlock, however, looked increasingly uncertain.

'Is that enough to purchase the require items?'

Mycroft resisted the urge to smile at his brothers cluelessness, 'I believe so.'

'So why was he angry?'

'Are you certain he was angry?'

'John is always angry.'

'Hmm. Perhaps he thought you were trying to buy him off.'

Sherlock actually looked offended.

'Why would he think that?'

'Well, and bear in mind this is just a guess, brother dear, but your relationship ended and you have barely spoken to each other since, you have been quite vocal about your feelings regarding impending fatherhood and now you are offering Dr Watson large sums of money out of the blue.'

Sherlock considered this, 'But John shouldn't have to provide everything.'

'Dr Watson is very independent. And... _aware_ of your tendency to ignore financial matters.'

'Which is why I require full access to my trust.'

'Do you think that's wise, given what happened last time you had unlimited access to those funds?'

'I'm clean now.'

'For how long?'

Sherlock glared at his brother, 'Fine. Sign it over to John.'

And _that_ shocked Mycroft.

'Pardon?'

'Don't make me repeat myself.'

'Sherlock, have you thought this through?'

'John deals with all the finances anyway. And I have no use for it. It's only money.'

Mycroft was relieved that Sherlock had no idea _how much_ money it was.

'And when Dr Watson moves out?'

'John isn't going to move out.'

'Sherlock,' Mycroft tried to make his voice gentler, 'Eventually John _will_ move on with his life, with someone else.'

'John is not moving out!' Sherlock shouted.

'Sherlock-'

'I need John!' Sherlock's voice dropped almost to a whisper, 'And John needs me.'

'Are you sure about that?'

'Do you still think that John wants a quiet life in the suburbs with a dog and a nine to five?'

Mycroft had to admit that he couldn't see the doctor in that particular scenario.

'I know how much you care about Dr Watson,' Mycroft began, 'But what about the baby?'

'What about it?' Sherlock snapped.

'Do you think he's going to stay at Baker Street knowing how you feel about the child?'

Sherlock's eyes flickered away again, and there was a tightening of his features that caused Mycroft to pause.

'Sherlock?'

His brother didn't look at him as he spoke, 'I admit my thoughts on the subject may have changed since our last conversation about it.'

Oh, well, that _was_ interesting.

'You have changed your mind?'

'I...I do not think it has to be a negative experience.'

And that was as close to an admission of a change of heart as Sherlock was going to voice, but it was enough to reassure Mycroft who nodded slowly.

'I can arrange for an increase in your allowance and to have it redirected to Dr Watson. I can, if you wish, arrange to have financial matters arranged to ensure the child is provided for in the future.'

Sherlock nodded, 'If you insist.'

Mycroft could have laughed, and no doubt he would when he was recounting his day with Greg later. But for the moment he maintained his smooth and calm exterior.

'Have you informed Dr Watson of your...feelings.'

Sherlock's eyes narrowed in response, but he refused to say anything, causing Mycroft to smirk slightly.

'Perhaps you should. Before he does anything rash.'

Sherlock's glare could have cut steel, but it lasted just a second before Sherlock was on his feet and striding out of the room, coat billowing behind him.

Mycroft leaned back in his chair and smiled.

 

 

 


	30. Chapter 30

THe hospital bag was packed. The cot was in pride of place. JOhn was due to start his leave soon and, for once, there was more money in his account than he knew what to do with. John Watson was ready.

Or so he kept telling himself.

With just six weeks to go insomnia had hit him hard and he suddenly found himself keeping hours with Sherlock, who generally ignored his presence. Or at least he pretended to.

When JOhn couldn't sleep he would instal himself in his armchair with a cup of tea or a book. HOurs would pass in silence and it was sometimes hard to remember that this was not the easy silence they had shared for so long before.

'Have you done something to annoy Greg?' JOhn asked one night.

'Who? Oh, Lestrade. No.' SHerlock frowned, 'Why?'

'It's just been a bit quiet lately. I assume people are still killing esach other so I wondered if you had done something that would stop Greg calling you in.'

'So, do you always automatically assume I've upset people?'

'Well, you do have a bit of a track record,' JJohn pointed pout.

Serlock began packing away the slides he had been examining.

'Well, in this instance it's not me he has a problem with.'

'So why's he avoiding-wait, are you saying i've done something?'

'It's not always about you, John.'

There was something in Sherlock's tone that John couldn't identify, but it was close to a sneer, overlaying something that went much deeper.

'Sherlock?' John made to stand to follow him to the kitchen, but he struggled to get out of the chair, 'Sherlock! Come back here! What am I supposed to have done?'

It took a moment, but Sherlock did reappear, brows knit together in that annoyed expression he wore when someone didn't automatically understand what he did.

'Have you noticed the way that Lestrade looks at you?'

'Looks at me? What are you on about? You're not still hung up on that are you? Jesus SHerlock! I thought you got past that years ag? tHere's nothing there. Not that it would be any of your business if there was.' John got to his feet by sheer willpower and glared across at his flatmate.

'If you are planning on embarking on a relationship with Lestrade then now would be the optimum time.'

JOhn just laughed at him, 'Seriously?'

'Yes.'

All at once the absurd humour was gone and JOhn found himself staring at Sherlock, who had retreated back behind his carefully cultivated mask.

'You've either completely lost it or there's something you aren't telling me.'

'YOu are a somewhat intelligent man, surely even you can work it out.' Sherlock took a step towards him, challenge lighting up his eyes, 'Think about it. Lestrade stops calling for cases. Mycroft hasn't been here in months. The last time you saw Lestrtade you thought there was something off about him, but you couldn't work it out,' Sherlock was towering over him now, s close that JOhn could feel his breath against his face, 'It's not me they are avoiding.'

'So...it's me?'

Sherlock shook his head, 'Not you.'

'Then what?'

But Sherlock didn't reply. He took his box of slides and retreated to teh upstairs bedroom, leaving a confused JOhn alone in the living room.

 

*

 

JOhn spent his last two weeks of work helping the doctor who would be covering for him settle in, slowly shifting his work load over to her. She was friendly and chatty and exactly the sort of person John would have gone for in the past. Which was why he accepted her offer of a coffee that evening. Or, in his case, a caffiene free cup of herbal crap.

As he checked his reflection in the bathroom mirror he thought how ridiculous it was to be going on a date with the mess his life was in at the moment. But then he smoothed his hairand left the bathroom before he could change his mind.

'Ah, JOhn,' SHerlock came out of the kitchen, safety glasses pushed up into his hair, 'Perfect timing. I require you're help with-'

'No.'

'John?'

'I'm going out.' JOhn checked he had his keys, 'And you're not supposed to be doing experiment in the flat anymore.'

'Will it matter if you aren't actually going to be here?'

JOhn sighed, 'Probably not.'

'John-'

'Have fun. Try not to set fire to anything,' JOhn said, slamming the door behind him.

 

*

 

The flat was dark when John returned and he thought, given Sherlock's sleep patterns, that the detective must be out. He wasn't expecting to turn on the lamp and find Sherlock sitting in his armchair, staring into space.

'What are you doing?'

'Thinking.'

John shrugged out of his coat, 'About a case?'

'About why you are going on dates when you are almost eight months pregnant.'

John didn't even bother asking how Sherlock had worked out where he was. INstead he toed his shoes off and made his way to the kitchen.

'Because she's nice, and I'm single, and because being pregnant doesn't stop me having a libido.' jOhn's tone was nastier than he intended, but he just couldn't bring himself to care.

Sherlock turned his head to look at John, taking in every detail.

'Doctor. Late thirties. Divorcee-'

'No!' JOhn cut him off, 'Don't do that.'

'No children. Wants them but doesn't want to sacrifice her career or her body. Looking for a partner who is content to stay at home with children, so clearly has no idea what you are really like. Entirely unsuitable. Cat lover. Drinks coffee but doesn't like you. Took you to the student place near the hospital that you hate. YOu had jasmine tea and a lemon cake that gave you heart burn-'

'Shut up!' JOhn yelled, eyes closed, hands clenched at his sides.

There was silence in the flat except for John's ragged breaths. He counted to twenty in his head, trying to calm himself again. When he opened his eyes he was alone in the room.


	31. Chapter 31

John had been expecting the black car for a while, he was surprised it had taken three days since his date and subsequnet argument with Sherlock before it appeared. He was even more suprised when he climbed inside and found Greg Lestrade seated there.

'You doing his dirty work now?'

'Mycroft is busy.'

'Mycroft is always busy. Never stopped him kidnapping me before.'

Greg's eyes flickered away from JOhn for a split second, and when he looked back he was clearly fighting to keep his composure.

'So,' John said, 'Wat does His Lordship want this time?'

'He just wants to make sure Sherlock is alright.'

'And he couldn't just ask him?'

Greg flinched, 'They had a bit of a falling out the other night. You know what they are like.'

'What were they fighting about?'

'Mostly about why Sherlock shouldn't follow you on dates,' Greg smirked, 'Dates?'

'It wasn't really a date.'

'What did Sherlock say?'

'He...wasn't too thirilled about it. In fact he was a real arse.'

'John, can I ask why you are still living with him?'

'Because everyone, you included, told me I should.'

'And you always do what you're told?'

'And Sherlock made a very convincing case for it at the time.'

Greg's smirk was back, 'I bet he did.'

That knowing smile was starting to get on JOhn's nerves and he was just about to demand Greg let him out of the car when the policeman leaned forward.

'Right, since pregnancy is clearly scrambling your brain a bit, and since Mycroft is making me, I'm going to say a few things and you are going to listen.'

John opened his mouth to speak, but stayed silent at the look Greg gave him.

'You know Sherlock better than anyone else, so you tell me what this means,' Greg started to count off on his fingers, 'He convinces you to stay in the flat with him even though it's awkward, he actually pleaded with Mycroft for access to his trust fund so you wouldn't have to worry about money. he got his old cot since over for the baby. This is the man who doesn't believe in sentiment. He watches you when you sleep and stalks you on dates.'

'Wasn't a date,' John mumbled, but Greg ignored him.

'He allowed Mycroft to put a camera in your flat because he's worried about your security. He turned down and EIGHT to go to a scan you didn't invite him to and right now he's sporting a jealous streak a mile wide. So, you tell me what's going on.'

'What's going on? I'll tell you what. I'm living with my ex who is emotionally consitpated and yet has somehow manipulated me into continuing to live with him, and is trying to buy me off because in a few weeks I'm going to have a baby that he doesn't want and I can't sleep and I'm worried and I have no one to talk to about it because Harry is drunk and Sherlock doesn't do feelings, Mycroft is MIA and for some reason you've been avoiding me. So there you go. That's what's going on.'

'YOu didn't listen to a word I said, did you?' greg leaned back, looking defeated, 'Myc is so much better at this.'

'He's really not.' jOhn snapped.

'I'm sorry I haven't been about,' Greg said quietly.

'Sherlock said-'

'Sherlock says a lot of things. But, despite what he might believe, he doesn't actually know everything.'

'Is there something going on?'

Greg shook his head, 'Nah. Just stuff between me and Mycroft. Don't worry about it.'

It was clear there was more than Greg was letting on, but John didn't push it. Instead he looked out the window and thought about the things Greg had said as the car pulled into Baker Street.

 

*

John took his time getting out of the car, automatically glancing upwards just in time to see a darting movement at the window. Any other time he would have smiled, but he was too tired, physically, mentally, emotionally.

He stood at the bottom of the stairs for a long time, trying to summon up the energy to climb them rather than just collapse at the bottom the way he wanted to.

THe baby chose that moment to deliver a vicious kick to John's bladder that made the bathroom a sudden priority. Seventeen stairs, sixteen slightly wobbly steps, one half closed bathroom door and a not-quite-to-the-toilet-on-time dribble that John did't have the energy to be embarrassed about, and then JOhn was retreating back to the bedroom in search of his pyjamas.

When he emerged, his soft dressing gown wrapped around him, Sherlock was sitting in his armchair cleaning his violin. John sat down opposite him and watched the look of concentration on the detective's face as he worked, the way his long fingers moved gracefully . He was obviously pretending he was oblivious to JOhn, but JOhn could feel that he had Sherlock's full attention.

Leaning back in his own armchair, John looked up at the ceiling, one hand stoking his bump.

'Sherlock, what are you going to do after the baby comes?'

'Do?' Sherlock frowned.

'Yeah. I mean, everything will be...I don't think it's a good idea to let things go on the way they have been.'

'I agree.'

'I..oh.' John dropped his gaze down to settle on Sherlock's face.

'Something wrong, John?'

'I just didn't expect you to agree so quickly.' But John had been living with Sherlock for a long time and knew better than to just take what he said at face value, 'Hang on, what exactly are you agreeing with?'

'Well, that you should stop trying to date other people. It will just confuse the baby. And...I don't like it.'

JOhn just stared at him, feeling slightly off balance, 'What?'

'And that pram you have been considering is too wide to comfortably fit in the hallway downstairs, so I bookmarked some other options for you to look at . And-'

'Sherlock, what are you doing?'

'Preparing for the baby.'

'You don't want the baby!' JOhn closed his eyes against the pain that came every time he said those words.

'I may have said-'

'No 'may' about it. It's what you said. In those exact words!'

'Is it inconcievable that my position on the matter might have changed?'

Time stopped as Sherlock looked at John, nothing but curiosity in his slanted eyes, his hands now still on the violin.

'Sherlock,' John's voice was a whisper, 'Please don't do this to me.'

'Do?'

'Don't just say things like that if you don't mean them. Don't pretend.'

Sherlock rested the violin flat on his knee and took a breath before speaking again, 'John, I admit that when you first told me I didn't not react in the way that you had hoped. But I believe that my honesty shoudl count for something. I have never lied to you about my feelings on this, and i don't intend to start now. I also meant what I said when I told you that I didn't want our relationship to end, and that I would accept the baby.'

'And I told you that accepting it wasn't enough,' John barely bit back the tears, determined that he wasn't going to cry in front of SHerlock.

'I know,' Sherlock said calmly, ignoring JOhn's distress, 'And so I have been trying.'

'Trying?'

Sherlock nodded, just once.

'Trying to what?'

'Learn.'

'Learn?'

'Yes.'

'You're trying to learn to...love the baby?'

For a second there was no reaction from Sherlock, then the other man gave the slightest incline of his head, 'Yes. The same way I learned to love you.'

With that he got to his feet and busied himself storing the violin away in it's case, his back to a slightly dazed John who wanted to cry for a completely different reason now.


	32. Chapter 32

Although they had forged new rules about keeping secrets, especially when it came to Mycroft keeping secrets, unless it was national-security-save-the-world stuff, in which case Greg tended to turn a blind eye, Mycroft had kept the date of this appointment to himself. For good reason.

Greg hadn't batted an eyelid when Mycroft announced he had to make a quick stop on the way back from lunch. In fact, it wasn't until he was sitting beside Mycroft as the anesthetic wore off that he had time to process what had happened.

Mycroft gave him a knowing, slightly sly smile.

'I didn't want you to spend days worrying about it.'

Greg didn't day anything because he couldn't disagree with what Mycroft said. If he'd known Mycroft was booked in for the egg retrieval he would have no doubt worked himself into an anxious ( and excited) state from the day the appointment was made.

'It's a bit surreal,' he admitted eventually.

'Hmm?'

'All this. It's, well, it's not like how everyone else does it,' he regretted the words as soon as he said them when Mycroft's expression once again shut down and the politician looked away from him.

'Mycroft I-'

He didn't have time to say anything else before he was being bundled away by an efficient looking nurse and shown into a cubicle, a plastic cup pressed into his hands.

It took him a moment to work out what he was expected to do and then he flushed with embarrassment as the nurse left him with a knowing smile.

But the time he returned to Mycroft the redhead was fully dressed in a pristine three piece suit and a highly amused expression, the previous moment of awkwardness between them already forgotten.

'Everything okay, Gregory?' Mycroft asked innocently as Greg walked with him to the car, 'You look a little flustered.'

'That was the most embarrassing wank I've ever had,' Greg muttered, slamming the car door closed.

'More embarrassing than the incident when Sherlock-'

'Okay, _second_ most embarrassing wank,' Greg shifted slightly in his seat and then glanced at Mycroft before bursting into laughter, 'We're actually doing this.'

Mycroft nodded, highly amused by Greg's outburst, and quietly hoping that nothing would take that smile off the policeman's face.


	33. Chapter 33

This wasn't how Mycroft had wanted to have a child.

Sitting on the side of the bath, two weeks almost to the hour after the implantation, just...waiting.

Greg's eyes had followed him as he went to the bathroom, and Mycroft steadfastly ignored him, feeling slightly ashamed as he did so. But he knew if he looked at Greg he would ask him if he wanted to come too. And even though Mycroft wanted the support, he felt that he needed to do this on his own.

#

It took all of Greg's willpower not to charge after Mycroft. Instead he waited for the other man to come back out. Waited helplessly for the results.

He had tried not to get his hopes up. The doctors has warned about that, and he'd been subjected to a talk about success rates and stress more than once. Even so, the thought that it might...that right at that moment Mycroft could be pregnant. His heart beat a little faster as he paced the floor, listening anxiously for Mycroft's return, counting the minutes and noting that he had been in there a very long time. Which could either be good news, or not.

The soft click of the door unlocking was like a gunshot, and Greg was in the hall before Mycroft had even exited the bathroom.

The politician looked dazed, a little confused, his eyes unreadable. Greg felt a wave of excitement and anticipation. He waited for Mycroft to speak, but Mycroft didn't even seem able to.

'Well?' Greg asked eventually, unable to contain himself any longer.

Mycroft finally seemed to realise Greg was there, and he lifted his head and looked at him for a long, searching moment. Then he shook his head and walked past Greg, closing himself in the office and locking the door behind him.

#

Mycroft knew he should call his doctor and inform him of the outcome. Schedule the next round. He knew he should talk to Greg, make sure he was okay. Talk things through. But that was the last thing Mycroft wanted to do.

He didn't want to talk.

He didn't want to do anything at all. He just wanted to shut himself away in his own space where no one and nothing could touch him, and where he could be alone in the silence.

Time passed and it was only when the flash of headlamps from a passing car roused him to attention that Mycroft realised how late it had gotten, how many hours he had sat there, unfeeling and unaware, lost in the nothingness.

Slowly he got to his feet and opened the door, moving silently into the living room and through to the kitchen where he found Greg sitting at the table, his feet bare and his hair dishevelled as if he had been running his hands through it.  On the table in front of him was an open bottle of whisky and two glasses. Without looking at Mycroft he filled a glass almost to the top and pushed it across to Mycroft's side of the table.

The politician pulled out a chair and lowered himself into it, before pulling the glass towards him with shaking hands.

Neither of them looked at each other until the glasses were empty and Greg was reaching for the bottle to refill them. Slightly emboldened by the alcohol, Mycroft spoke for the first time since that morning.

'I'm sorry.'

Greg didn't look up as he shook his head.

'Don't,' he said softly, a gentle warning not to start taking blame. All the follow up words hung in the air like unwanted flies. These things happen. Just one of those things. Maybe next time. Success rates. Age. Stress. The facts and figures that had been forced in them for weeks and weeks. But Greg didn't say any of them as he drained is glass for the second time.

'I'm sorry too,' he said, his voice gruff with emotion. Then he did look up at Mycroft, his face looking older, tired. He gave Mycroft a twisted, slightly pained smile.

'Wanna get really shit faced drunk?'


	34. Chapter 34

John Watson was wondering if he had done the right thing by staying at Baker Street. It was the same question he had been asking himself for months, and it didn't get any easier when he was doing things like falling asleep against Sherlock's shoulder in cabs or watching every movement the detective made for some sign that the man was lying to him, that this new affection and dedication was just another of Sherlock's great performances.

Not that is was so great.

Sherlock would stop in the middle of an action or statement as if he wasn't sure he was allowed to speak or move, and he would stare at John for long moments, as if waiting for a cue from the doctor. But John had no idea what they were supposed to do or say, and he found himself just staring back at Sherlock rather helplessly.

It was during one of these impromptu standoffs that John finally cracked, and without understanding why he burst into laughter at the confusion on Sherlock's face.

'I don't see anything amusing about the decomposition rate of human liver.'

The outrage in Sherlock's voice only made John laugh harder.

'I don't care about the livers.'

At this Sherlock's narrowed suspiciously, 'That's not what you usually say.'

'And what do I usually say?'

'It varies depending on the specific circumstances, but usually begins with some variation of 'Sherlock, I swear to God, if I find one more finger the margarine tub...''

He was silenced by John stepping forward and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, and then immediately stepping back again, putting distance between himself and Sherlock as he gauged Sherlock's reaction.

'Is that okay?'

Sherlock nodded almost too fast to have considered what John said, but John smiled anyway, and when he went to bed that night, he was still smiling.

#

Sherlock did mot move back into his room with John. He had made no indication that he wanted to, and John didn't offer. Instead they spent time together bickering good naturedly and eating more take away than was good for anyone and it was nice.

There were no deep and meaningful conversations, and there were no big demonstrations of affection or commitment. It was just slowly becoming what it had been before, back in the early days of awkward affections when they were still testing the water with regards to their relationship. But John had to admit that he liked the security of Sherlock's presence - even if that did mean the detective spent a considerable about of his waking hours simply staring at John, who pretended that he didn't notice. He was not tactile like other expectant fathers might be. He made no attempts to touch John's stomach, instead shying away slightly when John's body brushed against his. But that didn't prevent him from being curious about the changes that were happening, and he came to every appointment, listening attentively to the discussion and John could almost hear him making mental notes.

As the days turned into weeks and John's due date loomed ever closer, he began to worry about Sherlock's distance from him, but instead of confronting him outright about it, which he had learned from experience never went well when dealing with the other man, he watched as Sherlock watched him, until the night he couldn't stand the distance anymore. Raising himself out of bed, John started towards the bedroom, but then stopped, doubled back and took Sherlock by the arm, practically dragging him along.

Whatever Sherlock had been afraid of became slightly more pronounced when he hovered uncertainly as John climbed into bed. After a long and awkward silence, John finally huffed out an annoyed breath.

'Don't worry, I'm not going to jump you. I can barely sit upright anymore, so sexual gymnastics are out of the question.'

'John, I-'

'Come here and sleep you daft sod.'

At first it seemed that Sherlock wasn't going to do anything except stand where he was, but eventually he slid into bed beside John, albeit with slightly less grace than previously, and lay stiffly on his side of the bed. John sighed, it was better than nothing. And if he woke in the early hours of the morning with Sherlock's face buried in his neck, then neither of them made a big deal about it.

 


	35. Chapter 35

John was induced eight days after his due date. It was with some reluctance that Sherlock accompanied him to the clinic, although John could tell that Sherlock's was carefully concealing his own interest in the proceedings. Still, it was with some annoyance that John snapped at him.

'Look, if you want to go home then fine. I'll call Greg.'

Sherlock's eyes narrowed at that, and he made a low growl that surprised John.

'Lestrade will not see you in this state.'

'State?'

'You know what I mean.'

John could have laughed, 'Sherlock, if you are referring to me laying here bare arsed and waiting to push your child out of a very intimate area then I can assure you that Greg is not all that interested in looking down there.'

Three hours later and John was wishing he could say the same about Sherlock.

'Sherlock, you can put that phone away. There will be no pictures of that!'

Sherlock looked put out, but slipped his mobile back into his pocket.

'This is terribly boring,' he commented, flopping down into the chair beside John.

The midwife glanced at John, who grit his teeth against another contraction, 'If you dare utter those words again I will stab you in the left eye with a soup spoon.'

'That was rather specific, John.'

'Fuck off!' John roared, closing his eyes.

Sherlock looked to the midwife, 'I should probably ignore that, correct?'

She just nodded, wearing the smile of someone who has seen and heard it all before.

By the four hour mark John had lost all sense of time, and could only focus on shouting at Sherlock.

'Stop looking down there!'

'But it's so-'

'I'm a doctor. I know what it looks like!' John tried to shift position to take the pressure off his back, 'This is all your fault, you know.'

'How is it my fault?'

'Well I didn't get myself pregnant.'

'But you were an active participant in the proceedings.'

'You're lucky I left my gun at home!'

Another fifteen minutes and the midwife was full of encouraging noises.

'If you lean forward you'll be able to see the head.'

'I don't want to lean forward!'

But Sherlock was leaning forward, getting a good look at everything that was going on. He glanced up at John wide eyed at the same time that John gave one last push and suddenly a slimy, slightly grey looking baby was being passed to John. 


	36. Chapter 36

'You okay with this?' Greg asked as they entered the lift.

Mycroft nodded, a faint smile on his face.

'Is he going to be able to tell?' Greg asked, resting one hand on the small of Mycroft's back.

'I should think he will be otherwise occupied,' Mycroft said thoughtfully, 'It may take him a few days.'

'Well then, let's not spoil the surprise,' Greg pressed a kiss to Mycroft's temple as the lift stopped.

When they arrived at John's bedside the doctor was sitting up, looking tired and slightly dazed, but unable to keep the smile off his face when he spotted Greg and Mycroft. There was an absence of Sherlock in the room.

'Where is he?' Greg asked, slightly annoyed.

'He said you text about a case.'

'Did he now?'

John shook his head, seemingly not annoyed with the disappearance of the detective.

'Probably for the best,' John said, 'He was getting a bit overwhelmed, and between you and me I might have throttled him myself.'

'But he stuck it out?' Greg was already peering into the plastic cot beside John's bed, considering the scrunched up little shape with a soft look.

'More or less.' John allowed himself a small smile, 'You know how he gets.'

'Did he try to take pictures?'

'Of course he did,' John gestured to the cot, 'Do you want to hold him?'

Greg didn't need to be asked twice, and he already had the baby in his arms before Mycroft had removed his coat. John was watching him carefully, slightly anxious, but still with the same wide smile.

'What have you called him?' Greg's expression was soft, and he was aware of John looking between him and Mycroft.

'William.'

'Oh,' Mycroft let out a surprised breath that caused Greg to turn towards him.

'You okay?'

Mycroft nodded, looking pleased, 'Just surprised.'

'In a good way?' Greg asked, and was met with a nod, and another soft exchange of smiles that seemed to amuse John.

'How long are they keeping you in?' Mycroft asked.

'I can go home later today.'

'So soon?' Greg was surprised.

John nodded again, 'Just as soon as Sherlock reappears with my clothes.'

'Ah. Well, if you are relying on my brother then it may be prudent to allow me to arrange the necessary items to be delivered.'

'What are you doing here?' a familiar baritone demanded. It was almost embarrassing how quickly John looked up at the man who had just entered, 'And why are you holding him?'

'Jesus Sherlock,' Greg handed William down to John, 'I'm not going to hurt him.'

Sherlock didn't respond, instead he simply stared at Greg until Mycroft coughed gently.

'Perhaps we should let John rest. We can visit again when they are settled back at Baker Street.'

As they left, only Greg noticed the way Sherlock hovered over John.

#

There was precious little sleep had that night in 221B. By the time Sherlock and John made it home from the hospital John was exhausted but anxious, fussing over the blankets in the cot, while Sherlock had stationed himself beside William, watching him with those large aqua eyes and ignoring the constant phone calls from well wishers. Not that William was doing much. Eventually John drifted off in the early hours of the morning for a nap, and when he woke the room was quiet, but the door was open.

John eased himself out of bed, shocked at how difficult that was without pain, and moved slowly into the living room where he found Sherlock holding William gingerly.

'Here,' Sherlock held the baby out towards John, 'He's changed. I would have fed him but I lack the necessary apparatus.'

It took John a moment to realise what Sherlock meant, and he laughed softly as he settled William into his arms.

'He's on formula.'

'Oh.'

'What do you mean 'oh'?'

'I had assumed that with you being a doctor-'

'Don't even finish that sentence. Formula is fine.'

Even Sherlock knew better than to argue with John when he used that voice, and so he watched as John showed him the blue and white tubs in the cupboard.

'Will you show me how to do it?'

John paused, something about the tone Sherlock used was soft and unsure, and he turned back to him, taking in the way Sherlock cast his eyes down, embarrassed at having to ask for assistance.

'Of course I will.'

 


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are awesome. Thank you all for the nice comments and support for this - even if it's really gotten out of hand - I never could stick to shorter word limits. Still, just a warning that not everything is going to end with rainbows and roses, although we are close to the end now. Bear with me and enjoy.

William was two weeks old when Sherlock fled the flat, desperate to avoid the overly cheerful and enthusiastic health visitor who poked at John's stomach and kept trying to talk to him about breastfeeding. Sherlock had stuck it out until the woman asked John if he was still bleeding, at which staged Sherlock faked a text about a case, made his excuses and practically ran out of the flat before John could admonish him.

He stopped at the Yard where he was informed that Lestrade was at home, and do it was with a huff of annoyance that he headed out again to find another cab. When he finally arrived at the home Lestrade shared with Mycroft, Sherlock was surprised to see both of their cars outside the house. It was rare for Mycroft to be at home during the day, and it was something of a point of pride that once when he had been stabbed he had been back at work in time for Prime Minister's Question Time that afternoon.

Lestrade opened the door eventually, and he took one look at Sherlock and seemed to be barely resisting the urge to slam it in his face.

'What is it?' he asked, his voice gruff.

'John is with that insipid woman again and I might have faked a case to get away from all things baby related.'

Lestrade didn't move from his position blocking the door, and it was a long time before he spoke.

'Go home, Sherlock.'

'But I need-'

'Just go home. This isn't a good time.'

'But, Lestrade, I need-'

'Not _now,_ Sherlock!' Lestrade raised his voice, a dangerous edge to it that was rarely heard, and Sherlock, had be been anyone else, would have taken a step back. But he wasn't anyone else, he was the worlds only Consulting Detective, so he did what he always did, and he paid attention to the way Lestrade looked, exhausted, drained and confused, and the way he was standing, almost protective. He took in the worry in his expression and the helplessness, and he realised what was wrong with a sharp shock.

'I'm....' he trailed off, swallowing, unsure.

Lestrade's brown eyes softened slightly, 'Thanks.'

And even as Sherlock stepped back, Lestrade was already closing the door again.

#

John was alone in the flat when Sherlock returned, he was settled on the sofa halfway through feeding William. Sherlock said nothing, but climbed onto the sofa beside him, pressed as close to John as he could get, and closed his eyes, breathing in the new smell that was partly John's own and partly something new that was milky and sweet. John didn't ask him what was wrong, but instead he let Sherlock rest beside him, lost in his own thoughts as he gently winded William.

#

 

THREE WEEKS AGO

 

'You're sure?'

Mycroft nodded, looking like he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. In the end he did neither, choosing instead to watch as Greg did a strange combination of both.

'Really?'

He nodded again, 'There are five of them in the bathroom if you want to look for yourself.'

Mycroft had been joking, but Greg had dashed to the adjoining room to see for himself, before bursting back, a blinding smile on his face that made the last couple of months worthwhile.

#

 

TWO DAYS AGO

 

Mycroft hadn't spoken for hours. His face was paler than normal and the haunted look in his eyes tore at Greg's heart. He listened and tried to make sense of things. But no amount of explanation made any difference beyond those two words.

'I'm sorry.'

After that it was a rush of white noise, although he was vaguely aware of people talking to him as he tried to get to Mycroft, watching helplessly as he was first loaded into the ambulance and then as he was taken away out of sight.

Mycroft slept, heavily sedated, but Greg just sat with him, unable to close his eyes without seeing Mycroft doubled over in their kitchen or hearing him call for Greg.

 


	38. Chapter 38

'It's rude to ignore people, you know.'

Greg internally groaned at the sound of John's voice and he prayed that he was alone. He'd only called into the yard to update his supervisor and collect a few papers from his office. He'd picked this time of the morning because he knew the office would be quieter once the morning brief was underway and he would be able to slip in and out without too many questions.

Unusually his prayers were answered and when he raised his head it was just John standing there, minus Sherlock, and minus either a baby or a bum. Greg felt guilty at that thought, but pushed it away to deal with later.

'I'm just on my way out,' he said, trying to sound like it was work instead of heading home to Mycroft.

John looked slightly disappointed, but he quickly recovered.

'Ah. Right. It wasn't important, I just wanted to catch up. Sherlock's mum took him and William out to pick up a few bits. But the way Sherlock was acting you'd think he was being led to the gas chamber instead of the baby section of Harvey Nics.' John shrugged and looked to Greg for a laughing acknowledgement of the reality that was life with Sherlock, but all he got was a slightly blank expression and a silence that lasted just a few beats too long to be comfortable.

'I'd better go,' Greg was aware his voice was flat, but he really couldn't bring himself to care.

'Oh. Okay.' John frowned and watched his friend go.

 

#

 

It had terrified him. The way Mycroft just shut down.

At first there was the screaming and the panic of the ambulance and then the confusion of the wait.

And then it was just Greg and Mycroft alone in a room, Mycroft staring blankly into space and Greg's heart breaking for him. For both of them.

Greg was shooed out while the doctor examined Mycroft again, and when he was allowed back in, Mycroft was curled up on his side, facing the wall.

He hadn't said a word as he fought to contain his feelings, to sort them and store them and then to lock the doors on them so no one would ever find them.

Greg stayed with him, dozing fitfully in the chair beside the bed. In the morning he went for coffee and when he returned Mycroft was buttoning his jacket, the bed was neatly made and he looked almost ready for a day at the office. But Greg wasn't fooled for a second. He took in Mycroft's pale face and the detached look in his eyes , the slight shake of his hand as he fumbled with a button.

'Myc...? What are you doing out of bed?'

'I'm ready to return home.'

'I don't think that's a good idea. You should stay here until-'

'Until what?' Mycroft shouted, suddenly angry, 'Until it's _better?_ There isn't a doctor in the world that can make this _better_ now. So there isn't any point in staying here feeling _sorry_ about it.' Mycroft stopped shouting, his breath laboured, and for a second Greg was scared he was going to faint, 'I want to go home, Gregory.'

And it was those six words, spoken so softly that conveyed every emotion in the room, that made Greg nod and take Mycroft home.

 

#

 

They didn't talk about it.

Not then, in those first days. Or in the weeks or months that passed.

It just became a topic they both acknowledged there were no words for.

They didn't talk about trying again. Sometimes the conversation almost skirted around it, but it always withered away and they never came back to the subject. They didn't talk about the clinic or the doctors, or the two remaining embryos, still frozen in a lab, waiting.

 


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is one more chapter after this. And then this epic is done and I won't feel guilty about posting the next fic.  
> Once again thank you all for all the lovely comments and support and the kudos - honestly, it means everything. You guys are the best and fandom is wonderful place.  
> C xx

William was six months old when John found the notebooks.

At first he thought they were results of one of Sherlock's experiments, although John was certain he would have noticed if Sherlock had been conducting an experiment using faeces.

But as he flicked absently through the pages he suddenly realised what he was looking at.

It was all there.

 _All_ of it.

Every feed (date, time, how much, how many burps), every nappy change (when, what colour, what consistency), smiles, motor skill development...every detail of William's life had been catalogued. Recorded with an intensity that would have been alarming in anyone else, but this was Sherlock. The same man who had deleted the solar system had thought it was important to keep a record of every time his son laughed or slept.

It was...well, John didn't really know what it was. But it was touching, and he felt a sudden urge to see Sherlock. He carried the books through to the living room where Sherlock was laying on the sofa, William babbling to himself on the floor. Sherlock raised an eyebrow when he saw what John was carrying, but said nothing.

John set the notebooks down on the coffee table between them.

'You...love him?'

Sherlock looked surprised at the question.

'Don't you?' John pressed.

Sherlock nodded, just once, sharp and affirmative.

'That's what all this is. Isn't it? You love him.' John looked down at the man on the sofa and fought to express his emotions. But Sherlock beat him to it with two words John hadn't even realised he needed to hear.

'I learned.'


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter - Part 1

TWO YEARS LATER

 

Mycroft had been somewhat blindsided by the phone call, which was unusual for him. But it has been so long since they spoke about it, or even thought about, that the call was as unexpected as it was unwelcome. It suddenly reopened a painful part of their lives that they had worked so hard to get over.

He waited until after dinner before raising the issue with Greg, giving himself a few hours to collect his thoughts on the subject and work through what he what he thought. Even so, he couldn't look at Greg properly as he relayed the conversation he'd had with the consultant.

'Hang on,' Greg frowned, 'He wanted to know _what?'_

'If we weren't planning on continuing treatment whether we would consider donating the remaining embryos.' Mycroft's many years of political training was the only reason he voice was as steady as it was when he spoke.

Greg took a deep breath and let it out again, taking a deep interest in the vase on the window ledge as he thought.

'What do you want to do?'

'I'm unsure.'

'I hated seeing you like that,' Greg admitted, still not looking at Mycroft, 'I mean, I _really_ hated it, and it made me feel so guilty...I don't know if I can go through that again.'

'You've changed your mind about wanting children?'

'No.' This time Greg did look at him, 'But honestly, I just...'

Mycroft nodded, and then paused, unsure if he could bring himself to say the next words. Not wanting to give false hope, and not wanting to open them both to the potential heartbreak that could come. But in the end the honest brown eyes looking at him were enough to steel his resolve. Even so, he spoke carefully.

'There is another option....'

 

#

 

Mycroft was uncomfortable as he redressed, buttoning his trousers carefully over the dressing on his abdomen. He felt a slight pang of guilt that he hadn't told Greg about today, but really, it was a straightforward procedure and the end, as far as he was concerned, most definitely justified the means.

The doctor had been pleased when Mycroft called him back to inform him that he had spoken with Greg and that, yes, they would like to employ a professional surrogate, and could they have a list of available individuals to consider.

He had waited until the next day to call the doctor from his office, away from Greg's listening ears, to book a consultation and a course of hormone treatment that would lead to another egg extraction. At the time he had felt guilty about it, but now, leaving the clinic to meet Greg for lunch, he felt happy about his decisions to keep this particular element to himself for now.

If Greg wanted a baby, Mycroft was going to do anything he could to give him one.


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the final chapter. Thank you all so much. I love each and every one of you. xx

TWO YEARS LATER - PART 2

 

'Oh my, what is that racket?'

John who was seated at the table, laptop open in front of him, paused mid word when Mrs Husdon opened the door and let herself in. She stopped when she caught sight of Sherlock and William who were clad in just their sheets (or in William's case a hastily re appropriated pillow case) and stamping around the kitchen yelling at each other in a language John didn't recognize and enacting some sort of Battle Royale with a stuffed dinosaur and half a loaf of bread.

'No idea,' John allowed a flicker of smile over his shoulder as Sherlock was hit in the face with a crust, 'I just leave them to it.'

'Well, well,' Mrs Hudson sighed, and it was at that moment William noticed the older woman and abandoned his father.

'Hudders!' he embraced her legs, and then reached for her hand, 'Ready!'

'Not dressed like that, young man.'

John smiled again, 'You need clothes,' he explained.

William blinked as if he didn't understand, 'But...biscuits!'

Taking after his father in more than just looks, William had worked out very quickly who was likely to provide treats, which was partly why he instinctively took to Mrs Hudson, who trailed with her a scent of scones. Lestrade, Likewise, could usually be counted on to have a sweet somewhere about his person, although he'd had to promise that there would never be a repeat of The Devon Toffee Incident. Mycroft had once offered him an apple, and the look William gave him still made John laugh.

That said, it hadn't been easy for a long time. Mycroft hadn't been around for most of the first year of his life, and although it had never expressly been stated that he was avoiding Baker Street, the time Mycroft spent with them was often tense, and he made no effort to bond with his nephew. Sometimes when Lestrade visited he looked slightly strained, but John got the feeling that he shouldn't ask. As a result of his absence during that formative time, William had retained a distrust of Mycroft, which had eventually thawed.

'Clothes first.' 

'Studies have shown that nudity enhances behavioral-'

'Sherlock Holmes go and put your pants on this minute!' Mrs Hudson pointed vaguely in the direction of the bedroom door, and William smirked slightly at the scolding before he was scooped off the floor and carried, kicking and protesting, to get dressed.

The landlady managed to wait until they were out of the room before she giggled.

'Honestly!' Mrs Hudson straightened the cushion on the chair and case her critical eye around for anything else that might need her attention while she chatted about her and William's plans for the day. It wasn't long before William burst back into the room, a whirlwind of curls and anxious eyes.

'Biscuits now?' he pressed, earning an indulgent smile and an offered hand from Mrs Hudson, and practically dragged her out the door with a cheery wave and a shout of 'Bye John!'

When the door closed John could hear Sherlock laughing in the kitchen. He thought it hilarious that William insisted on referring to John by his name, but called Sherlock Daddy. He'd explained that William was just repeating the terms that Sherlock and John used, but that didn't explain why he called Mycroft 'Mystery' - something that Mycroft seemed to secretly be quite proud of.

John finished his blog post and then went for a shower while Sherlock took himself, still clad in his sheet, but in deference to Mrs Hudson he had at least put his pants on underneath, back to whatever he was doing in the kitchen that was causing the weird smell that had been hanging about the flat for the last few days.

'SHERLOCK HOLMES WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE?'

Sherlock started at the shout, and was already on his feet and looking for an exit when wild eyed John blocked the doorway.

'...John? Is something wrong?'

'You tell me!' John growled.

'Well, there are several potential causes of your current irritation-'

'Irritation?' John's voice rose even more, 'Irritation? I'm not  _irritated!_ I'm fucking pregnant!'

The words were like a slap that echoed in the silence that followed them.

'Oh.'

John's glare could have melted steel, and his voice got dangerously low, 'Oh? That's all you have to say?' he took a step closer, pointing at Sherlock, 'This is your fault!'

'Unless I am mistaken it would also have required your presence at proceedings.'

'Shut up, Sherlock. Just shut up!'

John sank down into the chair, his breathing irregular. It was then that Sherlock seemed to realise John was still clutching the test in one hand, his knuckles white.

'You're upset.'

'Yes, of course...no...fuck, I don't know,' he looked up at Sherlock, eyes pleading with him to make some sense of things, 'Am I?'

Sherlock considered this, 'You don't have to be.'

John blinked, 'That was...not the answer I was expecting. Are you saying that...you're right. We don't have to have it.'

'No, we don't,' Sherlock agreed, 'But that wasn't the question you were asking. You asked me if you were upset.  And you are shocked, worried and a little bit frightened, primarily about my reaction judging by your posture, and you are angry because you believe it was my fault you are pregnant again and you believe that we will have a repeat of the events that happened before. And you'd be correct.'

'What?'

'About part of it at least. It is my fault. Which is good, because I'd be most annoyed if it was someone else's fault you are pregnant. Although fault can't really be assumed when both parties were willing and equal participants in the events that led to the situation. Tea?'

Not for the first time in his life John felt thrown completely off balance by the madman who was clutching his sheet about himself.

'Sherlock, this is serious.'

Sherlock nodded his agreement, 'Yes. And you always make tea when something serious happens, so...'

'You want me to make you tea?'

'Well you won't let me use the kettle after that thing with the frog.'

John felt tears well up in his eyes even as he laughed, 'Because it wasn't hygienic Sherlock.'

'Neither was what you got me to do to you in way of an apology.'

At this John's laughter erupted and he rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand before standing up. He tossed the pregnancy test to Sherlock.

'Here, you can have this for tests if you want.'

Sherlock looked at it with distaste as John washed his own hands before filling the kettle.

'Don't screw your face up like that, you're the one who kept telling me that urine is sterile every time William had an accident.'

'Yes well, he didn't manage to get it in your hair.'

'Well, I warned you about that.'

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the memory, 'We'd better have a girl this time.'

The kettle still in his hand, John looked up at Sherlock's offhand statement, and he licked his lips before speaking.

'Do you....are we going to do this then?'

'If you want.'

'And you'll...you think you'll feel....'

'I told you before, I can learn.' Sherlock rolled his eyes and then looked mournfully at the petri dishes on the counter, 'Well, some of these will have to go....'

John reached the mugs down and turned to open the fridge, 'You're taking this very well.'

'Hmm?' Sherlock clearly hadn't heard what John had said.

'I thought you would have freaked out about this.'

'Like you did?'

John flushed a little, 'Yeah.'

And there it was, that one little flash so quick it was gone almost before it registered, but John saw it. Guilt. He clicked his tongue and leaned back against the counter, staring at Sherlock who was doing a brilliant job of pretending he didn't know John was looking at him.

'How long have you known?' John asked.

'John?'

'How long?'

'Oh...not long.'

'How long?' amusement laced the very edge of John's voice now as he watched Sherlock squirm.

'A...um...a couple of weeks.'

'Weeks?'

'Seven.'

'What?'

But Sherlock was already out of the kitchen door, sheet billowing behind him like a cape. John shook his head, feeling suddenly giddy, and counted to three before he gave chase.

 

-THE END-

 

 

 


End file.
